


Just Need A Minute

by Bremmatron33



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bremmatron33/pseuds/Bremmatron33
Summary: After a pretty rough fight the Stunticons manage to find themselves a medic to fix them up. Except he needs a little healing himself.





	1. Motormaster: the insufferable savior

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop writing these and finish other fics. Hope you guys like it.

Motormaster sat up and groaned as the rust and debris fell off of him. He had expected to wake up in some Autobot prison camp but considering he was still in the streets where he had been knocked cold with his other teammates the Cons must have won; or at least forced the Bots to flee first. Waking up alone was a blessing and a curse for him. He gained a few hours of peace and quiet from whining and blithering but that meant he actually had to go searching for the other Stunticons to make sure they weren’t doing anything stupid. As he kicked over rubble and dead mechs searching for his “friends” a knot of anger and dread started to form in his tanks and spark. The city was deserted. There was a heavy smell of ozone and the air felt staticky and uneasy. Motormaster activated his face mask and continued searching. A mile to two away he found Dragstrip curled up in a tight ball under a few other casualties. Some idiot medic must have either put him out of his misery or thought him dead. Just to be safe Motormaster nudged him with his ped and to his…..”joy” watched the two long tracks of biolights on the dragster’s back light up and flux slowly as he onlined. Well at least he wouldn’t have to find a new arm now. 

Dragstrip groaned and hummed as he uncurled, twisting and stretching to realign misplaced wires and gears. “Augh! That was a hard one. Do you always have to use me to break your fall?” Dragstrip glared up at Motormaster who looked unphased by his teammates displeasure.

“I’d use Dead End if he didn’t always go limp on me! Do you want to feel his pain and Menasor’s when he pins you beneath him?” Dragstrip sneered.

“Tch- Whatever.” 

“Speaking of that useless scrapheap go find him. I’m going to go see if our legs are still functioning.”

“Why do I have to go? Can’t we just hang out together? Don’t you like me any more Master~”

“JUST DO IT!”

“FINE! Primus you brute there’s no need to shout at me!” Motormaster ran a servo down his face and groaned. He didn’t even bother. He had to go find the others. 

They weren’t too far. Another mile or two Motormaster found both legs sitting on some crumbling stairs of a bombed out apartment building they had likely crashed into. As soon as they saw their leader they turned their gaze away. Motormaster stared them down. “So you two were just gonna sit here? Doing nothing? We coulda’ been dead! You care? You idiots think you could even make it another cycle without me? HUH! DO YA?” 

“Blow it out your tailpipe Motorbreath we just got outta there!” Wildrider picked up a piece of rubble and wiped it at the leader. It bounced off with ease but left a decent dent.

“WHATDIDJA CALL ME!?” Motormaster lunged forward and grabbed the smaller mech but before he could dispense any punishment he spotted Dragstrip running up the street. “What’s up? Where’s Dead End?”

“Not doing good. Both his legs were sheared off. I found them but he needs a medic.” Motormaster rolled his optics with disgust. He harshly threw Wildrider to the ground and hollered his orders. “GO GET A DAMN MEDIC!” Wildrider spitefully stayed sprawled out on the ground but agreed to go look. “YOU!” he pointed to both Breakdown and Dragstrip. “Put your damn masks on. Those slaggers dropped a fucking E-bomb on this slag pit and I don’t need to hear you gold afted weaklings upchucking your tanks and wasting fuel all night from the radiation!”

“Oh come on! You know my masks broken!” Breakdown gritted his denta as he looked around at the air suspiciously.

“JUST!” Motormaster grabbed Breakdown by the face and pulled him close. “Put it on.” Motormaster dropped him and turned to helpfully threaten Dragstrip but the usually picky speedster already had his mask on. The gold gilding shimmering in the meager sunlight. The only thing on the hot rod’s frame that was still even remotely polished. Primus it had been a rough battle.

They fucking won too! Motormaster clearly remembered tearing into the Autobot’s gestalt, showering the puny singles below with energon and shrapnel so even with the slagger’s lucky blow there was no way he could have kept going! And this was the thanks they got! Abandoned in a no name city with fuck all! It was going to be a round in the Pit getting back to base. They’d have to deal with someone to help spam the ship’s communication drones to even get a chance at getting a damn pick up and by that time they could be called in for another fucking battle! No refuel! No Recharge! Nothing!

The trio backtracked to Dead End, the poor mech nested into the debris. He looked up at them and gave them a weak smile. “Oh guys….you came back for me. You don’t have to. This is better. This is good. There’s no point in putting me back together I’ll just end up like this eventually. I think I’m ready if I’m being honest with myself.”

“Oh shut your yap!” Motormaster shuffled around Dead End clearing away as much debris as he could before tugging the wounded mech free. “Grab his legs. Let’s get somewhere a medic can actually work.” Motormaster set his teammate down in the flattest spot he could find then fell back against a sturdy piece of metal. He was exhausted. Even more so than when he had onlined and that could only mean one thing. A quick check of his systems showed it on his warnings. He had a tear in a line. Not an easy line either. It must have gotten pinched in the last minute transformation. His swearing was drowned out by an invent as he tried to calm his pounding spark. Wildrider better come back with a medic or things were not going to look good for Dead End after all.

He had just powered down most of his systems to conserve as much fuel as he could when he heard the telltale maniacal laughter of Wildrider. He rebooted his systems with a grunt of pain as his engines choked and stalled before chugging to idle. Wildrider had the mech at gunpoint which meant it certainly wasn’t one of their own. The medic also looked like he could have used a doctor himself. His optics clouded with a thick fluid, the bright red shining through a sea of black slime. His face pitted and cracking from acid rain and radiation. Metal all over his frame was splitting, dented and raw looking. He had next to no paint left but no engraved Autobot symbol that Motormaster could spot anywhere which meant he was likely some poor neutral but the blackened chain encircling one of his bags had a still faintly painted blue badge embossed with a medical brand on it which meant Wildrider hadn’t screwed up too badly. He must have been right in the blast zone of the E-bomb. 

Still he looked like he could work. He limped as he dragged his left leg behind him. Using his spear to keep up the pace that Wildrider was demanding of him but despite his likely agony and situation he still seemed about klicks away from turning around and stabbing the Con through the spark. Motormaster quickly stepped in. There wasn’t many mechs he respected but medics were few and far between on all sides. He knew if you just pretended to be nice to them and showed them some respect you got more than you were betting for most of the time. So with as much gusto as he was willing to risk Motormaster clocked Wildrider in the face and sweeped the small medic off his peds to carry him the rest of the way. “PUT YOUR FUCKING MASK ON!” They didn’t have room to play around now. The medic was as much of a health hazard as he was a healer.

Breakdown was hovering over Dead End with an ancient first aid foil book in one servo and a pair of pliers on the other. He had managed to do….something but nothing productive from an outsider’s viewpoint. Dead End had slipped into stasis per Breakdown’s request so at least the medic wouldn’t have to listen to him gripe. Motormaster plucked the pliers from Breakdown’s servos as he set the small medic down. “Go and guard the perimeter. Shoot anyone.” Breakdown looked up at him unsure.

“Anyone? Even another Con?”

“DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I FUCKING SAID! UNLESS IT’S GOD DAMN MEGATRON HIMSELF SHOOT THE SLAGGER AND EVEN THEN SHOOT MEGATRON TOO!” Having a medic around was not a safe. Even the hacks were usually kidnapped and fought over like meager energon mines and fresh corpses. They couldn't risk being friendly. Breakdown dropped his book and hurriedly ran off to do as he was told. 

Motormaster knelt back down next to the medic and carefully placed a servo on his back. He was so warm. Almost blistering from radiation and the general heat and his fans ,likely melted or just unresponsive thanks to his internal commands going haywire, were giving him no reprieve. Motormaster quickly searched and found a decently thin sheet of metal to fan the small mech with. The medic turned from examining Dead End to face the meager breeze. Removing his own facemask he vented out small plumes of dark blue smoke. Motormaster put on his kindest face. “Hey. Name’s Motormaster. No hard feelings for the rude retrieval but I’m sure you’ve been met with worse. Anything you can do for my…. buddy? We can’t pay ya….but we’ll take you anywhere you need to go. The small mech nodded feebly. He was going downhill fast, fighting it better than most but he would likely be a twitching mess by the end of the cycle without his own medical treatment. Maybe once he was done they could just put him out of his misery. “I’ll keep ya cool.” Motormaster gingerly picked up the medic and turned him back around, pushing him closer to Dead End before picking up his makeshift fan again. As he did he could feel the torn line leaking energon down his insides. It was getting smaller, barely a trickle now thanks to his fuckall autorepair actually functioning for once in his life but his tanks were reaching empty and any supplies the medic had were out of the question…..maybe. He had to see what they were stored in.

Motormaster put his fan down and inched close to the medic again placing a servo on his back. The small medic’s whole frame shivered under his touch but Dead End didn’t shoot up screaming in pain so it must have been ok. “Hey….you got any fuel on you? I got a tear in one of my lines. My repair is taking care of it but if I’m gonna take you anywhere I’m gonna need something.”

“B-agh-bah-back l-egh-l-ft” Primus that hurt to hear.It sounded like he was fighting off a hacking with a blown out vocalizer. Using his digits only he gave the medic a confirming pat on the back and started digging through his belongings. As promised in the back most subspace his digits found a thick box like shape that was most likely a cube holder. He pulled it free and opened it up. The med-grade inside still looked the normal clear aqua blue, no black bubbles or dark blue slime at the bottom. He slipped two free and cracked one open taking a long well deserved sip. Putting the box back something else caught his attention. A set of keys. Motormaster jingled them as he inspected but left it be. Sitting back to fuel up he got back to fanning.

As he did Motormaster watched the medic work. Despite the damage he was quite an attractive frame and his servos moved like they had been trained for the job. He certainly wasn’t forged a medic though, his frame made that obvious, but he had the skills. They had only been sitting for an hour or so and he already had Dead End’s legs not just reattached but reconstructed. The sorry excuse for a Con’s knee guards had been shot thanks to the wounds but now Dead End had some shiny new ones! Nothing fancy but at least it looked natural. Fuel lines in place and everything looking good Motormaster bent down, picked the medic up, and shuffled him into a comfortable position. The medic reached for his still scattered tools but Motormaster carried him off a distance away. He could feel the sudden claws against his armor trying to tear into him so the small mech could escape. Neutrals were such untrustworthy mechs.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Calm down.” Motormaster suddenly felt something sharp pierce his chest but it didn’t even hurt. The medic had his servo clutched around the tiniest dagger he had ever seen and was venting so quickly and poorly that his whole chassis was shaking again. He wanted to laugh. This one had some personality and durability. If he lived...he might make a good addition to the team. Primus knew they needed a medic with Breakdown falling apart and Dragstrip and Dead End being so picky about their battle scars. “Im’a pretend you didn’t just try to stab me cause’..... I get it. If you do it again though I’ll crush your skull and use it as lob. Which would be a shame if you asked me. You got a real pretty face.” The medic vented and shook but made no other movements. “So...about your ship.”

“I-Ihggh-hghh-d-d-dntc” 

“I know you have one. Those keys have a Redline symbol right on them.” The mech shook his head. Motormaster could hear the faint cha-chunk of failed transformation again and again. A wild smile worked it’s way onto Motormaster’s face, he was liking this mech more and more. The feisty ones were always the best.

“F-ah-r-egh-smh-mmhg-” The medic’s grip around the dagger tightened as his frame began to spasm and curl, small spirals of smoke now leaking from every seam. Motormaster lumbered back over to his makeshift fan and cooled the dying mech.

“What? Fuel, supplies, space? Either way we’re getting on the ship and I’ll make it work even if I have to ram some of the others into storage. Face it, you ain’t gonna make it long and you ain’t in any shape to stop me from doing what I want so either you play nice and I put you out of your misery, you pull some slag and I kill you, or... you play nice and we get along. Me and my team may not be the smartest but we’re resourceful and they take orders for the most part. It'd be a shame to leave you to the skrill and the thunderhounds and I’m sure we can get you fixed up.” Motormaster pulled the medic’s servo free and then the small dagger. Looking it over to make sure it wasn’t actually a medical tool he flicked it into the distance. “So where’s that ship?” 

It had been quite a trek to the ship. After kicking Dead End awake and gathering up his team the five of them followed the medic’s unreliable directions. Going about in circles and hopping over and back over barricades till Dragstrip attempted to fling the small mech into a chasm. Motormaster almost let him. He wanted to give the sick mech the benefit of doubt though. He couldn’t talk, could barely stay online, and he was smoking so much now they were likely leaving a trail. So he was surely delusional and just trying his best. 

As they came upon a partially collapsed underground docking again they realized that it had been their own fault for the runaround. The had passed the building over a dozen times and this time Breakdown finally spotted the door. Tearing it open the group headed downwards till they found what could only have been a makeshift hospital. Rows of dead mechs littered the depths of the space and there was medical trash everywhere. Empty cubes, broken equipment, mounds of dirty foil bandages that already had things rustling in them.

“This place stinks! His ship better be in here Motormaster or I’m making you a new resident of this pit!” Dragstrip kicked at whatever he could, glaring in the dark searching for danger. All five of them were on high alert but Motormaster was sure that thanks to the Con’s E-bomb not many mechs would be left hanging around. Not even desperate ones.

“Sure ya will. I’d love to see ya try.” Down another ramp Dead End spotted it, a small black and gold hack job surrounded by cots and meager medical equipment. Neutrals sure did have a sense of integrity to leave all the stuff. Motormaster ordered the four to pack everything up and get rid of the corpses still occupying it while he got everything up and running. Fiddling around he managed to detach the set of keys from the medic’s belt and opened the ship up.

The first thing Motormaster noticed was the lights. They were low output blacklights like the Cons used on all their ships. The next thing was it was bigger than it looked from the outside. The ceilings were high enough to stand in and even for Motormaster to fully reach up. He could still easily touch them but at least he wouldn’t be accidentally banging his limbs on things. It was spacious enough too. As he walked along the main path to the cockpit he passed at least nine doors and there was one right behind him as he walked in labeled “caution” in bright blue letters,the lights inside a pale disinfecting pink. A portable medical bay if Motormaster knew anything. 

At the front he was met with another locked door. He shoved the key in and twisted the lock. It was a little tight but Motormaster managed to brute force it open. Taking a seat in the chair he could look out the window and see the other Stunticons. They were doing adequate work getting things packed up. They’d be out of the pit by nightfall at least. Motormaster looked down at the mech in his arms, he was a bit cooler now, his fans kicking on randomly for small unreliable sets of time, but that was the only good thing going for him. Well...that and his spark was still working. Motormaster had heard some horror stories about irradiated mechs. Poor slaggers bodies getting so corrupted that they saw their own damn firewalls and commands as foreign attacks and cutting them off leaving them so null they’re pumps wouldn’t even send fuel to their sparks. 

Despite all the marring Motormaster couldn’t help but run an gentle digit down the unconscious mech’s cheek. “I won’t let that happen to you. I know how to take care of nice things when I want.”

He just had the ship warmed and ready for takeoff when he heard the other boys making a ruckus. Mostly oohing and ahing about the ship but Dragstrip was already fed up with carrying scrap that wasn’t his. He leaned heavily on the doorframe as he glared at Motormaster,perfectly cozy with the strange medic in his arms despite his warning of radiation poisoning. “Hey where in the Pit do you think this scrap goes?” 

“Anywhere you want. As far as I see it it’s our ship now. If you wanna be hospitable take it to the medical bay in the back. KEEP! Your damn mask on. Who knows what this place could have that we’re not fucking prepared for.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. How about you keep your damn mask on! You’re the one snuggling with the little ball of radiation. Stupid easy slagger.” Rage flared up in Motormaster’s spark from the dragster’s not even muffled insult but he pushed it down and chuckled softly in response. He honestly found it so amusing how fast Dragstrip got jealous.

“Tell Scrapheap to get in here on your way!”

“Fine~” Dragstrip shuffled off to the back of the ship with a roll of his optics. Alone again Motormaster gave the small medic a shake trying his best to wake him. The mech managed to online one his optics to look up at him.”

“Welcome home. I know you can’t be feeling too good right now but like I said none of my team is actually all that smart. They do take orders though. I’ll prove it,” Motormaster turned to to the door and saw Breakdown just about to knock. “Breakdown here is gonna do whatever you need to make you feel better. So all you have to do is stay awake long enough to help him. I know you can do it. Isn’t that right Breakdown?” 

“Uhhhh. I still have my manual.”

“Perfect. I’m sure that’s really gonna help.” Motormaster passed over the sick mech and grabbed Breakdown by the side of his helm. His voice dropping to a hiss. “If you kill this medic screw up you’re going to the well with him! Am. I. Clear.” Breakdown nodded desperately the best he could with Motormaster’s grip still on his helm. “That’s what I like to see!” Swinging the smaller mech around Motormaster shoved Breakdown towards the back of the ship.

In the eerie pink glow of the medbay Breakdown stared fixedly at the metal box that had risen up from the floor. He had heard of showers that were used to eliminate radiation, even baths, but this…..looked like a torture device more than anything. Breakdown was honestly surprised he had opened it to find it empty and ,though only limitedly, that he knew all the things the medic told him to put into the death box. They were all nicely labeled with common and scientific names with chemical structures all for easy use and theft! Although he did have to start over at least three times because the sick medic lulled and wasn’t able to tell him when to stop pouring certain chemicals. Through perseverance and quite a lot of screaming and begging Breakdown was almost fifty percent sure that he wasn’t going to accidentally kill the medic instantly. 

With all of the strength he could muster he tore his optics from the...bubbling, why was it bubbling, box and knelt down next the the medic. Without all his stuff Breakdown swore he looked even sicker and smaller. “Okay...I think I’ve got everything right. What next?” The medic pushed himself closer and weakly wrapped an arm around Breakdown’s neck. Breakdown picked him up but shivered under the stranger’s touch. Motormaster’s warnings of radiation poisoning making him jumpy. “You need me to help you in?” The other mech nodded but patted Breakdown’s shoulder and then made some sort of slamming motion. Breakdown could only hazard a guess. “H-hold you under?” the medic nodded again then pointed to the lid of the box and then the lock. “Lock you in?! Is that safe? What if your engine floods?” The mech held up two of his talons and pointed to the box again, shakily twisting his servo. A cold dread settled over Breakdown. He didn’t like where this was going. “Oh-kay lemme get this straight you want me to force you into this box, lock the lid and then leave you there for two...two what klicks?” The medic shook his head and tried to make a small circular motion with a claw. “CYCLES? Please tell me it’s cycles!” This time the other mech nodded. Breakdown vented deeply as he glared into the bubbling hell bath. “Alright. We can do this. You can do this. It’s gonna be fine right?” 

The medic shook his head slowly and whispered, his voice strained and ragged. “No….b-b-uh I w-a-ahn t-t-o l-l-lve.” Breakdown swore he felt his spark dim as his servos and plating shook and rattled. He pulled the medic tight to his chest and gave him a quick hug then slammed him into the bath before the rest of his courage died. As he locked the lid the screaming started. Terrifying spark snatching high pitched shrieks of pain; wordless but still somehow begging for mercy. He jumped away from the box as he saw it start to rattle and shake, delicate claws scraping and pawing at the top of the lid, scratching at the sliver of a glass viewing panel. 

He was dead! They were both dead! What had he done! How could he have screwed up this badly even with the medics help?! Breakdown curled up around himself in a corner of the small med bay and screamed with him.


	2. Breakdown:The hot mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two!! The third one is going to take some time because I really have to give my other stories some love especially now that I finally have ideas for them. Hope you like this enough to stick with me.

Breakdown fought with himself every few minutes to not open the metal box. The scratching and pounding had finally stopped but that only made the situation even more disturbing. He had tried peeking through the glass viewing window to check the medic's status but the box had quickly filled up with thick purple smoke to the point he couldn't see anything inside anymore. That couldn’t be safe to have in there. But if that was true then it wouldn’t be safe for him if he opened the box to let some of it out! He had to reason with himself. The medic inside had a working facemask. He didn't have a working facemask. The medic would be ok with the smoke in the box but he himself wouldn't! So if he opened the box and let the toxic smoke out he could die and then the medic would die anyway because he wouldn’t be there to take care of him. There was a chance that the smoke wasn’t toxic at all! Still Breakdown wasn’t prepared to take that chance. The medic had told him to leave the box locked! He had to stay firm! W-what did it matter anyway? He was just some dumb medic. Motormaster might get steamed if they lost him but despite his threats Breakdown knew he wouldn’t go through with anything. There would be one hell of a beating sure but nothing more. They had gained a free ship out of everything after all and with the medic dead they wouldn’t have to put up with him! Who knew what the mech was like when he wasn’t injured. He could be dangerous! It was never smart to judge mechs on size alone. The smallest ones usually always had a trick under their armor. So Breakdown left the small medbay and went to search for a berth to go lie down on, out of sight out of mind.

A few klicks later he ran back in the room, tossed open the lid to the box and ran back out. Barely managing to hit the room’s fans and breaking a few of the other buttons on the wall on his way. Shaking the chills from his frame he went to go find Dead End. He spotted him in one of the open room relaxing on a berth. Breakdown leaned havily on the door frame and tried to seem as casual as possible. “Hey, which room do I get?” Dead End looked up from his pilfered datapad and shrugged.

“There are only three rooms we can really claim. Motormaster and Dragstrip took one, I took this one and Wildrider took the other so you can room with me or him. If you want to tick off Motormaster you can go against his orders and take the medic’s room but he told me not to think about it. I rummaged through it anyway but just for something to do. He’s got a lot of nice stuff. Plenty of books, nice raunchy ones. Some of them even have pictures. Servo drawn pictures that weren’t there originally. Spends a lot of time alone I’m guessing. ”

“Seriously? There are six other rooms on this ship why can’t I stay in one of them?”

“Two of them are storage and the other four are….well they’re occupied. Seemed we didn’t pick up the nicest medic. I’m pretty sure Motormaster’s in love but I’m convinced the moment you get him back to functioning he’s going to kill us all in our recharge so….enjoy this comfort while it lasts. The closets are big though. Dimensional subspaces. You could throw down a support pad in there to recharge. Might save you.”

Breakdown quirked his head extremely confused. “Are you….sure they’re not patients? He’s a medic after all and he was in the middle of a battle when the bomb hit. They could just be in bad shape.”

“Well if they were just patients they aren’t going to last. Dragstrip and the boss are taking out their frustrations.”

“Better them than us.” Breakdown glared at his peds. Here he was hoping they might have finally met a decent mech for once. Well at least now he knew that they wouldn’t ruin him. “Listen I don’t wanna bunk up with Wildrider but to the Pit if you think I’m gonna be recharging in here with you if just going to jack it all night!"

“Well I guess I’ll just fuck myself then. Just a reminder if I die you get everything I own because you’re my favorite.”

"Seriously!" Breakdown was busy grumbling and collecting the support pad from the other berth to really care about Dead End’s empty words. Besides being the other mechs “favorite” out of the group wasn’t exactly a win. It wasn’t a tough competition. “Suck my tailpipe.”

“Then why are you leaving? I don’t have time for this mixed signals slag, our time is finite. Either you want it or you don’t big boy.” Breakdown didn’t even give the other mech the satisfaction. He left  with an angry whine of indignation and quite a bit of banging. As if Breakdown would ever even think about letting on of the other Stunticons get that close. They couldn’t even have his back let alone do something remotely nice for him. They barely called him by his actual name! The only spike they could suck in Breakdown’s opinion was Unicron’s while they were melting in the Primus forsaken Pit!

As he shuffled through the halls he could hear Motormaster and Dragstrip’s laughter and a few dull screams coming from the room they were in. He wanted to hazard a peek to see for himself if Dead End’s fears were warranted but that meant he’d have to willingly go near Motormaster which just wasn’t worth it. It didn’t matter! Even if the medic was a little shady that didn’t mean he was completely bad. Breakdown had met dozens of good mechs who were forced to get into dirty deals thanks to the war. He couldn’t trust them with an inch of his life but they were still decent mechs! Besides there was no way the medic could actually be a dangerous mech. They were STUNTICONS, Motormaster was almost as tall as Megatron himself and the medic in good health or not was just shy of Breakdown’s own height there was no way he could put up any sort of fight. They were going to be fine.

Opening one of the doors closest to the medbay revealed the seemingly endless hall of storage. Breakdown vented a sigh of relief at a guess well made and dragged his recharge mat inside. The medic sure had a lot of stuff for being only one mech….there were...a lot of body parts….armor pieces, optics by the bucketfull, servos and peds on racks protected by plastic tarps. Breakdown felt his engine start to rattle as his spark fluxed rapidly with fear. He was just a medic! Medic’s needed parts after all. They needed things to give injured mechs. Surely they were all stuff the little medic had built himself…..and even if they weren’t even Autobot medics scavenged parts. It was ok! What did dead mechs need working parts for? They were dead! Breakdown didn’t think he would care if someone took his parts if he got snuffed. At least he’d be helping some mech somehow. Breakdown cringed at his own sentiment. He was a Decepticon! A soldier! A killer! That sort of slag had no place in his spark anymore!

He smoothed out his bedding and settled down in a deeper section of the closet right by one of the ship’s heat vents. The closed off corner made him feel safer and  the large bucket system meant he didn’t have to actually see any of the parts inside. Most of it was just sheet metal and screws and ball bearings anyway. Nothing scary about that. After a few klicks of trying to power down Breakdown ruffled his plates and snarled irritably as he started removing his packs and holsters. He didn’t like leaving his stuff lying around especially his weapons and he was usually good recharging with all his stuff on him but now it just made his plates itch. His tanks weren’t feeling too good either and his engine was starting to feel sore and the kickback from his fans smelled funny…...he was sure it was the runty medic’s fault! All he could do was pull his bedding closer to the output vent and hope that he wasn't suffering from radiation now too thanks to being so close!

* * *

 

It took four tries for Knock Out to pull himself out of the detox chamber. His struts felt like rubber and his circuits still conducted as if they were nothing more than hard glue strung along from diode to diode. He didn’t know how much time had passed but could still feel his plates smoking which meant the idiot mech the other Con…..Motormaster... had left him with either didn’t do his job or somehow thanks to the radiation he had managed to develop psychic powers and undid the lock himself. Knock Out supposed he could just stay in the box but most of the solution had evaporated and wouldn’t be nearly as effective. It would be over and done with quicker if he just sucked it up and flushed his systems the hard way.With his circuits at least somewhat reliable now he could finish detoxing without the box.

But there was a more pressing matter that needed his attention. His internal alerts had woken him from his stasis which meant one of his “patients” was pressing their panic buttons. He needed to figure out what slag those stupid Cons were reaping on his ship before they did anything that could put him in serious trouble. As he dropped to the ground however he crumpled into a heap. He had forgotten about his bum leg and melted tires that were by now completely flat. So much for that gift. It would be eons before he found another set of gold rimmed tires again. Where had that stupid slagger gone and put his staff?! Where had the dumb brute gone in general? Figured. Brutes like them were never actually around when one needed them. There was nothing he could use in sight though and to the Pit if he was going to crawl. He’d have to just use the walls and hopefully make it to his parts closets before he ran into one of the lunatics.

Using the counter Knock Out pulled himself up and dug his talons under the lip to keep himself upright. He tried recalibrating some of his systems but just running the damn tests made him sick and woozy. The faint smell of burning soft metals in the air. He vented deeply which worked about half the time and managed to choke back a coughing fit at the smell of his own burnt internals despite it making his muffler seize with pain. He could do this! He could do….something. What was it again? Right, parts closet. Parts closet. Parts closet. Parts closet. One of his damn drugged out blitz junkies had pressed their panic button so that meant either their IVs had run dry or one of the Cons had found them and they weren’t playing nice. Knock Out could only hope it was the first one. It wouldn’t really be that big a deal if the stupid brutes killed one of the fools but if they had any credits left those were credits he wasn’t getting! Can’t take a dead mechs credits! Clawing along he stopped and managed to fill a syringe with some anesthetic just in case it was the second problem. Risking reaching up nearly caused him to crash back to the floor smacking his face into the counter on the way down but it was a bit of a necessary risk well taken. A half a dose of crimson blitz could send even a triple changer to the edge of the universe so there was no way it wouldn’t take down some second tier Cons. He couldn't deal with mechs like them in any other way in his condition.

 With all his will gathered up Knock Out threw himself at the door. It was only a few steps and then he could cling to the walls for the rest of the trip! Walking was agony though and had him seething and dry heaving with every move. With every step and every lurch across the stupid floor his sensor net was flooded and his raw circuits could barely channel all the signals moving required let alone the ones Knock Out needed to save himself from crumpling back to the floor. How in Primus’ good name had he gotten this far? He had been in agony after onlining after the blast and he had managed to make it all the way to the stupid Cons without his processor and chassis falling to pieces but now he could barely walk three feet to his damn parts closet! No! He was going to do this! He was going to stand and walk like the strong, proud mech he was! He was fine all he had to do was push through.

* * *

 

Breakdown had managed to finally power down after what felt like cycles. Alone, the parts closest felt like a void. Safe and never changing. It couldn’t have been that long though because Motormaster and Dragstrip hadn’t come back from their search. They had picked up a high energy signature and needing a good drive the two had set down on the strange planet and took off with little warning and no offer to join them. As if Breakdown would have anyway! Slaggers would have just left him to rust anyway. Only bothering to come back cycles after when they realized the joke wasn’t worth it. Now though something was clanking around outside! The nervous racer had called out to the hall just in case it was Dead End or Wildrider but he vaguely remembered Wildrider leaving with the other two and Dead End would have answered him.

Breakdown tried to be reasonable. It could have just been one of the medic’s patients making noise in their own rooms. It could have been the weather outside. Pit it may even be a maintenance drone. Maintenance drones weren’t scary. They never did anything to hurt anybody. They only knew how to do their darn jobs! If only his stupid spark would listen to his processor then he could get back to the nice recharge he was having! Only his spark wouldn’t listen and his tanks were starting to get all stormy and sick as his plates rattled loudly echoing in the expansive closet. The only noise in the now terrifyingly quiet room.

There was a sudden metallic screeching as the parts closet door was opened. Breakdown stumbled back and tried his best so shove himself into the smallest most discreet spot he could. Which didn’t exactly work in his favor.

HE WAS BEING STUPID! He was being SO stupid! It was Motormaster or Dragstrip or Pit even Dead End coming in to check on him! It wasn’t anything close to threatening! Monsters didn’t just show up without warning and even if they did he was strong enough to take on anything! He needed to stop being a sparkling! He needed to stop being such a stupid coward!

Then it all happened so fast. Breakdown swore he saw a mess of tangled probing cords and wires looking to ensnare him lurching along through the hall getting closer and closer to his position. Except when he started punching the “monster” barely put up a fight. With no resistance Breakdown leaned back and got a good look at his opponent and shrieked in surprise. The tiny medic rolled over and retched painfully before purging his tanks all over the floor. Breakdown stared on in horror. Motormaster was going to kill him. Panicking Breakdown dropped to the floor and pulled the sick mech close, half formed apologies slipping from his vocalizer as quickly as the medic tried to slip from his servos. “Please stop.” Breakdown begged softly as claws tore and smashed against his face. “I didn’t mean to punch you I promise you just scared me! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE SCARED ME!” Rage quickly bloomed in Breakdown’s spark. The medic had done this on purpose! He knew Motormaster would get angry if anything happened to him! He wanted Motormaster to punish him didn’t he!

The rage only grew when he spotted the small syringe lying on the floor a few inches away. Distracted Breakdown let the medic slip away so he could inspect it. “Hey, I know what this is! THIS IS RD! W-wERE YOU TRYING TO DRUG ME?! Were you trying to drug ME! BAD IDEA BUDDY!” Breakdown lurched forward and grabbed at the other mech, lifting him up and slamming him down into the small pool of his own energon again and again. “I shouda listened to Dead End! There are nothing but fragging CREEPS out here thanks to the damn war! Doesn’t matter what side anymore!” As he attempted to flatten the other mech into the ground the gravity of what he was doing fell over him. The other mech was clawing at any place he could reach, his seams jumping as they attempted to switch to whatever weapons or tools he thought he could use to protect himself, panic burning in his sickly optics. What did Breakdown think he was doing beating down a dying mech! One he was supposed to protect or not it was still disgusting! The poor thing probably didn’t even remember who he was! Who anyone was! Primus and even if he did RD was one good drug maybe he kept his best supplies hidden away in his storage so no one could steal them! Maybe he had just come looking for someone to help him! Breakdown was supposed to be helping him not beating him into the floor! WHAT WAS HE THINKING?!

Breakdown laid the other mech down gently and hovered over him checking out the damage he’d done. It….didn’t look too bad. There were a few more cracks and most of the ones that were already there were now deeper but nothing Motormaster would notice. He could definitely fix this.  
He vented slowly to calm himself, letting the warm air flood over the medic hopefully calming him too. He gritted his denta and looked away as he tried to think how he could apologize to the still terrified mech. Finally smiling he quirked his head and tried to scrounge up a little bit of his old charm. “S-sorry about that. Primus I’m sorry y-you scared me. I’m a- I’m- I got my issues I didn’t mean to attack you and uhh-” The medic continued to fight Breakdown’s weak hold. His fear stung the Stunticon’s spark a bit. Breakdown ignored the claws digging into his faceplate and quickly primed the syringe. “You-you’re- you -you need this? I can help you. I promise. You don’t gotta be scared of me. I- like- I know I’m a Con and you should be - but-but you don’t gotta. As long as Motorbreath doesn’t find out alright? Right?”

“NO!” The medic screeched as Breakdown pulled him close and looked for a good fuel line, his clawing getting more fervid and painful. The chu-chunk of failed transformation getting more desperate now. Breakdown pat the small of the medic’s back gently as he explored the other mechs frame as professionally as he could.

“LISTEN! You don’t gotta scream at me! I’m really trying to help you. I-I-you know maybe you were trying to drug me and-I- that’s okay. I- well it’s not but I know the feeling. Either way this is some good stuff you got here and you shouldn’t be wasting it on taking down jobs like us! I promise I’ll do better taking care of you this time just stop fighting okay?” The medic didn’t seem keen on that idea but luckily Breakdown managed to find a good line just as he got his transformation to work. As he sunk the needle in and pressed the release button Breakdown felt a saw blade bite into his shoulder. He reeled back dropping the smaller mech like a hot engine and swiftly ripped the blade free then quickly bore back down on the smaller mech grabbing his thin wrist before he could do any more damage. He wanted to be angry but Breakdown repeatedly told himself that the tiny medic had every right to be afraid and fight back as he did.

“Hey. Come on. Stop this now I already said I was sorry! I’m trying to help!” The medic proceeded to spout a demonic stream of garbled nonsense as his saw glitched between staying with its painful looking half transformation and going back to his servo. The drugs were already working. Breakdown removed the empty syringe and leaned to to cup the medic's face in his servo. Slowly and gently he ran a thumb along the silver scared jaw. “Don’t be scared. Please? I’m so tired of other mechs being scared of me. I used to help mechs you know? I miss helpin’ mechs sometimes. I’ll take care of-”

“Y-y-y-r-r k-k-k-illi-l-lng m-m-m-m~e!” The medic snarled the best he could and splashed Breakdown with his own leaked energon, leaving bright streaks across the Con's deep red face.

“NO I AINT! I PROMISE. You’re gonna be-” Breakdown reached up to wipe away the mess and froze. The pool of energon the two were sitting in had spread out, long rivults of it flowing down the uneven hall. It was already turning dull. He was right. His tanks must have gotten cracked in the fight! “SLAG! SLag I’m sorry! I can fix this! You’re gonna be okay! Icanfixthis!” Breakdown jumped to his peds and threw the medic over his shoulder as he ran for the medbay. He remembered Dragstrip coming in to search for fuel when he had been freaking out and he vaguely remembered the other mech finding what he was looking for so hopefully there would still be some left.

Darting to the torn through bags on the floor Breakdown found the more armored fuel box and fumbled with the latch. Inside most of the cubes were gone but three small ones were still packed inside under a padded separator. Breakdown tore them free and bit into one of them as he laid the medic back down. He pushed the cube to other mechs lip’s and tipped it up slowly but most of it just dribbled down the medic’s chin. With such a small amount of fuel left in his system the drugs had kicked in almost instantly leaving the medic a languid mess. Breakdown continued to force fuel down his intake despite it. “Come on, come on! I know you can do it, it’s just drinkin’! How many imputs does it take to drink?!” Apparently more than he could have imagined.

With servos sticky from energon but feeling a little better now that the medic’s spark was thrumming steadily Breakdown set the other mech down and turned his attention to the small bath. Most of the important stuff in the box was gone thanks to his panicking, leaving nothing but solvent and maybe a bit of neon in the bottom. He tipped the heavy container over and let what was left flow out into the drain before trying to recreate the detoxing formula. As he looked between the swirling liquid and the dying mech he fought with himself. The medic clearly needed more than just a detox. He needed help or he wasn’t going to last through the night….but Breakdown didn’t know slag from sulfides!

Shuffling around the medbay he paced in a small circle with a jug of nanites in servo. Breakdown knew the things were strong little buggers that did wonders fixing most mechs up but…..what if it made everything go sour? What if they just fitzed on contact? What if the heat killed them? What if- He couldn’t keep doing this! Breakdown undid the lid and poured a decent amount of the nanites in. The bath turned from a swirling bubbling mess to a slightly less terrifying shimmery lavender. “Here’s hoping Doc bot.” As he settled the medic in the mech only moaned and twisted in the bath. Soon thick steam billowed up from the solvent. Not as vigorously as before but still just as dark and threatening. Breakdown was determined not to mess up a second time! He quickly did the latch and left to go clean up the mess he had made in the closet.

* * *

 

Alone again and with a clean floor Breakdown settled back down on his mat and stared up at the dark ceiling. He tried to relax and vent slowly but something was just….off. He didn’t want to recharge in the closet anymore. It just...it wasn’t fair. Motormaster and Dragstrip shared a room because they liked getting personal with each other but aside from that the others got their own rooms....just because! He was doing the most work! He was taking care of the Doctor! He deserved his own berth to recharge on! He deserved a fucking door so no other weird mech could just barge in on him recharging and do whatever!

Getting to his peds again Breakdown skillfully shoved all of his belongings in an empty storage bucket and quietly as he could went out into the hall. Without Motormaster or Dragstrip to tell him off Breakdown explored the other rooms of the ship. One was as Dead End mentioned another storage closet and the other three had mechs in them. Sickly thin mechs with brittle armor and dull fields and thanks to the other Sunticons they were all sporting a few new dents. Lucky for them they were hooked up to IV’s with bags filled to the brim with RD which meant they weren’t feeling a thing. So Dead End had been right again. The little mech wasn’t just a medic after all…..well at least he wasn’t a completely clean one. That didn’t mean slag though nowadays and running a drug den was the least of a mech’s worries. Pit most even thought it a blessing. Mechs who came here, who stayed here, they didn’t want to live anyway. All they wanted was peace anyway they could get it.

Breakdown found the poor Con in the room two away from the medbay cold and dull in a heap on the floor. Motormaster and Dragstrip had really had their fun kicking him around and had knocked his IV out. Without it and with no energon in his tanks he didn’t last long. Probably didn’t even feel it. Breakdown wanted to get rid of them but doubted the little medic just threw them to the void. No that wouldn’t be very pragmatic now would it. So he just stared at the dead mech for what felt like a lifetime. What had they been through? What had they lost to turn to something like this? He didn't really want to think about it. Primus if even high up Cons like he looked couldn't last in their war then....who fucking could?

Flipping the slightly stained support pad over Breakdown locked the door and settled down on the berth. Turning onto his side so he didn’t have to look at the corpse beneath his bed he vented a sigh of relief. He liked how compact the room was, how warm it was, and how the natural thrumm of the ship made the berth shake gently. He even rather liked having a roommate. At least he liked having one as quiet as Launchpad. He offlined his optics and called out to the dead mech on the floor. “Gd’night’ Launchpad.” It certainly wasn’t a clever name but seeing how he was a rather hefty aerial Breakdown though it fit. Breakdown could only hope that Launchpad would have appreciated the gesture of goodwill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so Knock Out runs a drug den. I was really fighting between making him a good neutral mech that the Stunticons slowly corrupt and making him just a shady easily swayable mech that sort of just fits in with them. I feel like I did a bit of both. Knock Out is a good Doctor. He cares about mechs and genuinely wants to help at this stage but he also needs money and supplies and so he uses what skills he has to get that. At this point I imagine he doesn't feel great about doing what he does to get by but he does it because at least they're just killing themselves and he's just selling a treatment so he doesn't feel as if it's his fault and that he should be telling them how to live their lives so he just reaps the benefits. There's a degree of separation that he feels comfortable with. He's giving them what they want. He's making their lives tolerable. He's helping them in a way that they want and if it kills them it's not his place to say. Anyway hoped you liked it! Thanks for reading and kudo's, comment, or submit a request if you'd like.


	3. Dead End: The New Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooh new chapter! This is definitely "On a good day" characterization of Dead End this chapter. As it is for most of the Stunticons. He doesn't understand how metaphors work. Hope you like it!

Dead End pondered as he looked the medic over. Breakdown had pulled him from the detox tank a few hours ago and while looking leagues better than he had when they first found him now he also looked quite brain dead.

“Did you give him energon, he’s been in that tank for almost three cycles?”

“Yeah as soon as I got him out!”

“O-kay. How about a jumpstart? Maybe his spark just got a little too dull?”

“He’s not in stasis! He’s online, watch.” Breakdown snapped his digits and the medic flinched at the sound, swiping at the young brutes servo as if he had the depth perception of a coil raptor.

“Well you had to do somethin’.”

“I didn’t!” Dead End watched Breakdown wring his servos uncomfortably, a telltale sign that the Con wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Breakdown-”

“OK SO I GAVE HIM SOME DRUGS! It wasn’t my fault! First I thought he was trying to drug me and then I thought maybe he wanted them for himself and then I thought they were for me again but maybe more for like Motormaster or-or-or one of his patients just as like protection if one of them was too rowdy…..I-I don’t know.” Dead End didn’t seem surprised. In fact he didn't react at all. It was the only redeeming quality the mech had left after the Cons got to him. His Nihilistic attitude led to nerves of titanium and patience, mostly stubbornness, beyond measure. Breakdown could trust that the other Con wouldn’t out him to Motormaster or berate him to the point of depression like Dragstrip.

“What drug and how much did you give him?”

“Just a syringe-full of RD.”

“A syringe-full of RD? Like pure RD or RD and energon?”

“I-I don’t know! He just had the syringe in his servos and I knocked it out of his servos when I- when I gave it to him.” Breakdown just barely caught himself. Not like Dead End would care but the other brute had no qualms using info to his advantage so it was always best to lie and make them good, or better yet just not say things that didn’t need to be said.”

“O-kay well then I’m going to assume it was pure and tell you that he’s off in the cosmos right about now. RD puts mechs like old Megatron out on a orn long trip through the stars. This guys our size so we’re talking way longer than that.”

“Well then what do I do?” Dead End shrugged his shoulders. He sure as the Pit didn’t know how to hasten a drug trip, no one ever exactly wanted to make recreational drugs work worse, and it wasn’t like Motormaster gave Breakdown any better orders than don’t let him die so there was no hurry to do anything.

“He looks good to me so put him in his room, keep him fueled up, and tell Motormaster we’ll have a new personal medic in about a month or two.”

“THAT LONG! HOW?”

“Maybe less. Doc here looks like he actually has a nice racing engine instead of the hackjobs we got from Swindle so he could burn through it faster than normal but if he’s got a fancy enough one he could have one of those engines that can switch inake levels. Sitting here’s not gonna burn through a drop if it’s automatic.”

“Well there’s gotta be somethin’ we can do!”

“Why? His world is already bleak enough as it is, do you really want to force him to spend more time with us? This way he doesn’t even put up a fight and we get to tell Megatron that we caught a new medic and after Dragstrip blows his charge talking up how we were the ones who basically won the battle he’ll force the little mech into a contract and we’ll get a new personal medic.

“What if Megatron just takes him for himself?”

“Well then we have just as high of a risk of dying as every other nobody on this damn planet. You happy now?” Breakdown didn’t look happy. Dead End rolled his optics as he sighed. “He won’t, Megs has dozens of decent medics and he’s already stingy enough with his secrets to let the heads train another one. Besides, if this one has to supplement his income by selling Crimson Blitz I don’t think he’s gonna be up to the glorious leader’s standards. Don’t get me wrong, my legs feel great and the fact that he fixed me up when he was dying gave even me a flash of hope for better things to come but….I mean look at him. I think he was working his way through med school doing….other things if you catch my drift.”

“Chemistry? He has a lot of chemicals and equipment. I think he makes the RD himself.” Dead End gave Breakdown a look that let the other speedster know just how precious he thought he was.

“Could be! I don’t know. I just know most-eh- forged medics don’t look like this and personally if he lasted in the streets as a drug dealer looking like this then we really shouldn’t leave him alone unless sedated because he might eat us. Did I ever tell you that story, about the weird feral mechs who die and get brought back by Unicron as Solus weird hot revenge minions to lure stupid mechs out to the wilds? My friend Clasp was killed by one pretending to be a service mech in Kaon once. Woke up and found him in his room gutted with bitemarks and high gloss paint all over his chassis.”

Breakdown didn’t look like enjoyed the tale.“Do you really think he can kill us? Like you said look at him!”

“Yes Breaky I do~ He’s got a pretty face and two buzz-saws embedded in his armor. If that doesn’t scream trap I think the four dying guys does! Metal doesn’t mean slag when he’s bathing in the energon that’s running from your sheared open tanks.”

“B-but he was helping people. Back at the battle we...cleared off all those guys. They weren’t like the guys in the rooms they were actual soldiers. Some of them looked like they could make it.”

“Let’s just not get ahead of the road alright? Or let’s do…. I don’t really care but either way we don’t know what to do so why worry about it?”

“Okay...soooooo?”

“Take him to his room, make sure he’s fueled up, and don’t say anything to Motormaster unless he asks you and if he does, say you have it handled.”

Breakdown’s face lit up. The fact that he had only changed one thing didn’t fall past Dead End. “Okay!” He couldn’t blame Breakdown. The less time dealt with their squad leader the better.

* * *

 

With the young bruiser off on his task Dead End sat back against his berth and glowered up and down at himself in the shiny ceiling. He looked disgusting and it was really starting to grind his gears. A pretty little mech all alone in the war had to have some sort of detailing equipment and with the boss and Dragstrip only making stops for their benefits it was his likely his chassis' only hope. So Dead End waited till things settled and then went searching.

And he found…..nothing! Zip! NADA! In the whole of the medic’s vast collection of junk Dead End didn’t even find a brush! “What the fuck! I was so damn sure!” Dead End had been positive a frame like the medic’s could have only started out on the streets because if it hadn’t he would have been wearing an Autobot sigil somewhere on his pretty chassis. The only place he hadn’t checked was the medic’s personal quarters but with the mech now in there…. Screw it. With any luck Breakdown would also be in there so it would be a little less awkward.

As he walked along through the hall he couldn’t help but zero in on the lingering smell of rust and decaying circuits and fuel. Most med ships smelled of it but it had started to grow prominent ever since they boarded. Breakdown had mentioned taking a dead mechs room when they had met up to find fuel, had the bruiser really not been smart enough to toss the corpse? Dead End thought to check but thankfully thought again and just put on his battle mask. Breakdown got a little nuts when other mechs touched his things, even if said things were cycle old corpses. He’d leave that slagstorm to the medic unless it got terrible enough for the boss to complain. As he snuck past Dragstrip’s room and the cockpit of the ship, he was instantly rewarded for his smart decision. Breakdown wasn’t there. Although he had hoped the other Con would have been in the captain’s quarters treating the young medic it turned out better that he wasn’t and because he hadn't gone to check up on the corpse smell he didn’t have to deal with the paranoid bruiser accusing him of stealing or sabotage. Honestly he was sure some mechs just hated to be hygienic.

Dead End ran a servo over the recharging medic’s helm as he crept in. He had no reason to do it but part of him who had dealt with Breakdown for long enough knew that mech’s who couldn’t keep reality and their own thoughts apart usually needed an outside stimulus to remind them. It was just a little warning. A “hey don’t kill me, I’m actually here if you’re awake”. It usually worked for Breakdown even if the other mech bitched about it but he didn’t know if it would be the same thing for a half conscious starshooter.

As he sat down and started rummaging through the medic’s things he could gradually hear the rattling of plates. Dead End didn’t bother looking back. He sighed as he gently tossed a photobook to his side. “Go ahead and kill me Doc. I already look like an orns old corpse anyway. Can’t even have one nice thing in this damn war.”

“What are you looking for?” The mech’s words were slurred beyond belief but then again so were most of the Stunticons when they were sober so it wasn’t much of a challenge.

“You must have a crappier engine than I thought.”

“I gun my engine in my sleep a few too many times. A nasty habit. Now answer the question.”

“Aww you have racing dreams? That’s cute. Must be nice.”

“More like nightmares where I’m running for my life. Now answer before you get sixty thousand amps straight to your processor.”

“Wow you get that high? Who in Primus’ name is your parts dealer ‘cause I need his number.”

“I’m not joking. You ugly fucking Cons think that you can take whatever you want for your precious leader? It’s not happening. I don’t belong to anyone!”

“Ow that hurts and here I was trying to be civil. Listen to my sweet soothing voice and detect all the fucks I give. I came for paint. You got paint?”

“Paint?” Knock Out hadn’t really expected that.

“Yeah paint. I know you’re still drugged up but if you were smart enough to trick mechs into thinking you could be a medic then you have to know what paint is.”

Knock Out sighed as he curled into himself, his head still spinning and his controls just too slippery to do more than threaten the Con. Either this mech was great at calling bluffs or he really didn’t care about what happened to him. Either way it wasn’t worth it to risk his own safety for some damn paint. “There’s a false back in the lowest cabinet. It’s behind there with my buffer and wax. Try not to waste it all.”

“No promises.” Sliding back the back panel Dead End dug around blindly and the first thing his servo landed on was a hefty bag of chits. No wonder medic got so defensive. There was a good quarter of a centuries worth of energon money in there. Groping around he also felt a few thick bars of what could only have been precious high ticket metals and ore. The Con had to admit he liked a mech who put just as much effort into hiding his detailing equipment as he did in hiding his cash. That opinion quickly changed when he finally pulled the set free. The buffer was a imaculate salon antique. An excellent find that had been well taken care of and had almost a dozen pads to it for different finishes. The brushes were of the same quality, a complete set that ranged from thick one swipe coaters to tiny one hair detailers. Dead End spent longer than he cared to admit just fondling the engravings on each one and admiring how thick and heavy and amazing they felt in his servos. The medic’s actual paint however was….a travesty. The bigger base coat pots were either so empty, dry, or clumped they were unusable and the tiny sets of detail pots were not only crusted they were scraped to the bottom too! Out of almost forty-eight pots only two were actually usable. A separated red and a seriously yellowed white. After all that build up he was back at square one. Still part of him accepted his fate as he vigorously shook the red paint pot in hopes of making it a decent color again. Being monochromatic was a fate worse than death but at least he could look clean. Still he couldn’t help being a little bitter as he scattered some of the empty grungy pots on the berth in front of the medic.

“Seriously? You live like this? You?! These haven’t been touched in eons. Do you even know what year it is anymore?” Dead End had heard of even the youngest medics becoming jaded in months but this was insanity. This neutral had a model frame and he was squandering it by living like a guttersnipe! “Seriously what was it? Used to be some rich mechs plaything and just...like the freedom of being ugly now? They stop making your color so you gave up? Conjunx up and died and these were theirs so you don’t have the spark to throw them away? It’s not nice to tease a broken mech you know.”

Dead End hadn’t expected the medic to answer so he was taken by surprise by getting the truth on the first try. “Paint’s expensive to buy. Takes time to make. I only really used it when I had to make money. I….don’t have to make as much money now. Less tanks to fill. I put that time and cash into my work now.”

Well that was a depressing yet highly relatable fate. “This the only color you’ve been using?” Dead End idly shook the red paint pot at the medic. The medic shook their head and pointed to one of the others on the floor.

“I’m a neutral medic. I wear black.”

Dead End didn’t even try to hide his look of disgust. “Is that all? Is there no fun allowed in the neutral camps?” The younger mech laughed. It was smooth and dark…lunatic or no Dead End was still starting to like the medic.

“Energon eats it the least I figured a brute like you would have known that. Besides, fancy designs look dumb when you can’t even reach your own back. There’s supplies in my storerooms just  go make your own paint. Don’t destroy my equipment.”

“Do you really think I’d be in here rummaging if I could make my own paint?”

“Sucks to be you then.” It was impossible to ignore the neutral's bitter satisfaction. Dead End wished he could muster up any other feeling than total agreement.

“Ss-ah-sure fragging does. Everything in this sick twisted black hole of a world just leads me to a meaningless nothing and empty paint pots….. but like hell if I’m going to look ugly going out of it so.... whatdaya’ say Doc? You’re going to to be stuck here with us that much is inevitable. Motormaster’s already made up his processor so either you say yes and go along or we go all the way to Megatron and he gets his scientists to put a nifty chip in your processor. That doesn’t sound cool does it so...why not….get friendly? Think you’re sober enough to mix me up some decent looking paints?” It was a little forward, a little demanding of a mech who probably couldn't even say where he was rigtht then but a good enough try as any.

The medic responded with another bitter chuckle. “Really? More threats and requests? After you and your friends stole my ship and nearly killed me? I already did you a favor your ungrateful sack of sprew! I saved your damn life!”

“You reattached my legs. Not exactly a life saving surgery but I feel you. Still you didn’t think I was gonna be as rude as to not extend the offer did you?” Dead End couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to charm another mech to get himself something but he supposed he was doing it now. Secret demon or no. “I much rather paint up a cutie like you then say wasting my talents on Dragstrip again and again only for most of it to wind up on Motormaster’s dumb chassis. Come on Doc~ I know you got the stuff. Help me out, let me pamper you and you can just promise not to slit my intake in my recharge. Or….do, but only if I ask for it, and make sure you ask twice because I’m pretty fickle about it honestly.” This at least got the medic to smile. It was too practiced and hid sharpened fangs at the edges but it was quickly growing on him. Maybe Breakdown had been right for once.

“Wow a Con with a little class, alright…-” The medic lead off into a long pause that Dead End just figured was the drugs still making the younger mech calm and loose but it then occurred to him that the medic wanted a name.

“Dead End.”

“How fitting~, Knock Out.”

“No way, seriously?”

“As far as you’re ever going to know.”

“For now.” Dead End didn’t push. He couldn’t have cared less about the name really all he wanted was to look good again.

* * *

 

Knock Out still couldn’t do much for himself thanks to some internal wounds the nanites hadn’t been able to fix,Breakdown had jumped the gun as usual but what else could they expect, and his overall stupor didn't help either making him drift in and out of coherency now that he wasn’t terrified of Dead End coming in to eat his face or whatever he thought he had been planning to do . A little annoying for the Con since he had to do some not so heavy lifting and that Knock Out had to keep correcting the formula he gave the other mech but with his newly gained knowledge Dead End decided it had been all worth it and was happily cleaning out disgusting paint pots and mixing up a new rainbow of colors as the medic relaxed in the oil bath the Con had setup for him. Not like he had done anything more than pressed a few buttons and filled a tub, Dead End had been forced to do way more intensive things to get on other mech’s good sides. The medic had even been kind enough to share his bath and with his delayed reflexes and overall apathy he made the perfect canvas for the Con to test his colors on. So far it had been a fantastic couple of peaceful groons.

Dead End actually found himself enjoying the neutral’s company and for what little conversation he could get out of the mech through his periods of stark sobriety the medic’s personality seemed to mesh pretty well with his. Certainly no saint and a little rough around the edges Knock Out still had enough integrity not to be a complete slagger even to his enemies and he was just plain funny. Could he just be clever and talking Dead End into a false sense of security? Sure, but either way the Con wouldn’t mind whatever fate came from attempting to befriend the medic.

As he painted on another swatch of new color he made idle chatter. “Seriously I know I look like an idiot but I will make sure both of us look great when this is done. I’ve just never mixed my own colors and if you couldn’t guess I wasn’t exactly forged in the luxury servant class.”

“I can guess. Still if this is your only hobby you should have learned this eons ago. It must be nice, just to like doing something for yourself. I only ever bothered with paint to impress mechs. Make myself look better with the hope they wouldn’t notice I was a fraud.”

“Yeah well..life’s too short to be bland and it’s the one thing in my life I can actually control to a certain degree. Will it get messed up, specifically one stupid streak on my lower back that I likely won’t see for orns? Yes. Will I run out of my favorite colors and be stuck wearing some ugly shade that makes me look way too bulky? Of course. Will Motormaster and Dragstrip continually deride me even though they ask for touch ups every time I get more supplies? Without a doubt. But you taught me how to make my own paint and I know how to reach that spot on my lower back. So even when the cosmos are swirling like a deadly whirlpool trying to suck me up to my death I know I can at least become a star as long as I’m gilded to the nines.” Knock Out hummed in agreement as the Con showed off another of his newest colors. A bold deep maroon that shifted all the way to black as he turned the brush and was speckled with gold flakes. Dead End carefully took one of Knock Out’s servos and used all the paint on the brush on the medic’s talons. Knock Out shifted his claws, a little too engrossed in the magic. “It could be your hobby too if you want considering how this is going to be your new Pit. Unless you kill yourself. Which I can’t blame you for, I won’t take offense. Still if you don’t, I can teach you how to do your own paint in no time if you’d be willing to create some designs for me. I saw your pictures, pretty nice. That way you won’t have to be my living sketch pad and we’ll save a whole lot more on paint stripper.”

“If it was just you and the jumpy blue one? Sure maybe I’d stay in this Pit, but I’m no mechs fool and like I said I’m no mechs property. I’ve gotten away from kidnappers before. Neither your boss or Megatron are going to make me do anything I don’t want to do. As far as I’m concerned you can have the ship I’ll get a new one but if you think I’m gonna be running around with a Decepticon brand sucking your boss’s spike whenever he wants well you can trust me, they’ve got another thing coming. ”

Dead End found himself laughing now. It had been a long time for him and the medic’s fervid optimism was incomprehensible but still, it was a breath of fresh air for the nihilist. “Motormaster wasn’t kidding about you being feisty, but you gotta know you’re not getting out of this one. Doesn’t mean you can’t come out top in the end though. Play face and get to Megatron first and...who knows. He’ll probably kill you for trying to blackmail him but….you seem like a smart enough mech to come up with a better plan that won’t get you killed.”

“Yeah it’s called slipping some RD into some energex and kicking the lot of you off my ship. You’re more than welcome to stay though, if you help~” Already to villainous flirting? Breakdown was right. Knock Out may have been hard but he wasn’t a psychopath.

“I’d be nothing but a liability. We’re all basically bonded thanks to what the Cons did to us. They’d find us and Motormaster’ll be pissed. Even if you just left on your own he’d find you. You don’t know how Motormaster can be when he actually wants something. Especially when he’s got Dragstrip and Breakdown under his thumb, we might not be smart but were not dumb. We just have ehh…..a limited set of skills that were each good at. I’m telling you the only way to get the better of him is go over his head.”

“I can get out of this situation, I don’t need to play face and I don’t need to make deals with Megatron.”

“Maybe you can but why? Take it from a mech who’s been on all sides of the war except the Senate's. The Cons are the safest bet and they pay the best for loyalty. Sure living like this you heal whoever you want while supplementing your hero complex by selling Crimson Blitz to Cons till they’re broke and dead enough to dismantle them for whatever their worth but….you could also not have to do that. I ain’t gonna lie and say that Megs treats his medics well, because to be honest I don’t know but what I do know is every action is met with a reward. Whether it’s fuel or something more. Who are you playing nice for still? You already told me you ain’t worrying about anybody but yourself anymore.”

“I’d never survive as a Con. Not even as one of their medics.”

“You don’t gotta be a Con, you just have to work for them. With a little muscle, and it just so happens that….we’re quite a lot of muscle who’re looking for a personal medic and you’re a medic who needs a little muscle, you could be living a much better life. Every time i’ve seen a Con medic save some heavy duty, the next cycle they’re off buying themselves something pretty. That could be you! That could be us! I’ve already told you one way to get it but…..if you don’t want to deal with Megatron I’m sure you know a hundred easier ways to get Motormaster and the other guys in the palm of your servos.”

“If you aren’t even loyal enough to not sabotage your own teammates how in the Pit do you expect me to trust you not to rat me out?”

“Who’s sabotaging anything? We’re just talking. It just happened to turn out that I actually like you a hell of a lot more than them and I could really do with a medic on my side. Who knows maybe with your help you can somehow aid our…” Dead End struggled for a word to surmise Menasor, “Mess and…..Megatron will still give ya a thing, wouldn’t that be nice? I know I’d like a thing...whatever the things he gives out are. Maybe. It’s Megatron they could be weird things like a copy of his book or a signed picture of his face. I wouldn’t want that, that’d be... weird.”

The two spent another few groons in the comfort of the bath chatting and designing as well as they could. Knock Out had to admit despite not being the most artistic mech Dead End really did have a knack for detailing and for simplistic designs they were well done and flattering. He hadn’t even realized how badly he had let himself slip after Mark-up and Sling’s death until he was high glossed and colorful again. With all his wheels and even standing on his own to boot! It was nice to have help again even if it wasn’t from the most….moral of mechs. Perhaps Dead End was right maybe things would be better if he had some powerful friends. One thing was for sure though, there was still no way he was setting a ped on any Decepticon ship so he had to work fast if he wanted to get Motormaster under control.

* * *

 

To his luck he didn’t exactly have to wait for the right moment. Dead End had just helped drag him back to his quarters and settle down when he was startled back to coherency. Without the warmth of the bath and the high of the drugs slipping away a dull pain had settled in and the last thing the Con wanted was his work to get ruined by Knock Out faceplanting into the floor. It was hard to mistake those long tracks of brilliant purple biolights for any other of the rowdy Cons.

Motormaster moved as carefully and quietly as well as mech with his frame and demeanor could as he neared. He had been glowering when he entered but as he took the young medic in it turned to a satisfied smirk. Knock Out felt his spark start to race as his anxiety piqued. Baiting already broken Cons with drugs and kind touches was one thing, trying to play deadly brutes was another and he didn’t exactly know if he was ready for this track. Before he fell down his spiral of doubt he pushed himself up off the berth. He had been trying to sit up, tried to look alluring and defiant but a searing ache gripped every corner of his frame, making him shake as his processor swirled and throbbed in time. This was why one never sampled their own product! Especially when might actually need it. Primus, Knock Out could feel the leaders depraved satisfaction already! Talk about barely veiled hero complexes.

“Did I wake you?” The brutes voice purred as he slipped a servo under Knock Out and picked the smaller mech up and pulled him close. “Or maybe you need another dose? Breakdown told me you were in pain.” Knock Out felt his face pull into a sneer, fucking Cons. By the Pit he was going to let himself get loopy with this slaggers optics all over him. Knock Out forced himself to focus through the pain and lingering drug fog to come up with a good enough retort.

“I prefer a more natural medicine. When you can make your own vice things get...dangerous.”

“Explains the bath” Motormaster’s heavy duty engine rumbled as he pressed his face close to Knock Out’s neck and vented in the medic’s clean scent, “And the buff. New paint looks good on you Doc. Probably the only thing I’ll ever thank that primpy runt for.” Knock Out hummed in agreement, more or less just speechless as he let himself melt momentarily against the messaging purr of Motormaster’s powerful twelve cylinder.

“That’s not a nice to say. You’re a team after all, you rely on them all the time.” Motormaster laughed loud and short.

“Sure I do~ Sure. That’s real cute Doc but you don’t know the layabouts I’m forced to deal with. Forget about them though. What say you join me in the cockpit and I help you with some “Natural medicine”.

“What about your partner? Dragstrip?” Innocence had never been Knock Out’s strongest attribute but the look certainly looked good on him.

Motormaster’s denta glinted in the low light as he smiled down at the medic.“What about him?” Primus this was going to be trouble.

Knock Out wished he could say it disgusted him more than it did to go with the other mech but…..the resulting massage had been just absolutely delightful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else just imagine Motormaster sounding like an evil more of a dick Rocky? Anyway Kudos, comments, and requests if you like. I'm trying to get better at drabbles so either you can ask here or my tumblr. It's in my profile info.


	4. Dragstrip: The Attention Whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my attempts to finish older fics I just get lost in new ones. I hate myself. Glad I took the time on this one though. Don't know if it hits like I wanted it but It was already getting long.

“Seriously Motormaster, we don’t need him. You just need me and I need you.” They were sitting in the cockpit again, door closed, the other four stunticons out mining. A mine Knock Out had “found” and led them to. Motormaster hadn’t believed him when he told him he could hack Decepticon files and to be fair he couldn’t. Mark-up really had been a wonder to have around but Soundwave would grow wise eventually that his pretty security was breached. He was going to need to find a new technical wizard. Now though he looked like a an evil genius to Motormaster. “You can still go to battles, you can fight the good fight so you don’t have Megatron’s disciplinary crew coming after you, but if he doesn’t care enough about you to make sure you get on the ship do you think he’s really going to care how you spend you time between battles?”

“And if we do agree to agree how will we be spending our time?”

“Well~ I need to raid a lot of places for supplies but with a little more metal behind me we could go elsewhere. Get some jobs from Lockdown. Take some of our own from the boards. I have enough money to upgrade my- our ship. Instead of selling my stocks to depressed soldiers I could be selling it to millionaires.”

“Off planet.”

“Off planet. With the upgrades I can get going to and from this Pit would be a shutter of an optic. We…” Knock Out inched himself closer to Motormaster and wrapped his arms loosely around the bigger mech’s neck. “Could even find a profitable way to expend some of that pent up aggression of yours. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Motormaster cupped Knock Out’s aft with a massive servo and pushed their frames flush together. “I already know a fun way.”

“You know I’m still too fractured for that~ I can barely walk on my own for a few klicks without hearing my frame start to crack from the stress. Let alone take a….pounding.”

Motormaster sneered and rolled his optics. “It’s that idiot's fault. Couldn’t even follow your own damn instructions.”

“I was close to the blast, it was going to take me more than a week or two to recover whether it was him or a top notch trained medic helping me out. I just don’t have the supplies. I used most of them these past battles.”

Motormaster’s engines began to purr again as he bent over Knock Out, holding him close. “Well~ don’t worry about that starshine~ we’ll get your office stocked back up in no time. Till then stay off your wheels. I’ll get the junker to carry you around, not like he does anything else for this team.”

“Isn’t he one of the legs of the big guy? I’d call that something. I think I know why you always lose your cool during fights. You’re not very good at teamwork.” Knock Out flicked Motormaster’s nose playfully.

Motormaster growled as he kissed the side of Knock Out’s helm. “Don’t let him hear you talking him up, or any of ‘em for that matter. The only thing my team needs is a lesson in respect for me. Never gonna get that slag, no. Didn’t even have it before the Cons fucked us over. So they get beatens’ till they learn.”

“We’ll see, till then you do it your way.”

“Till then? I hate ta’ break it to ya’ but It’s always gonna be my way starshine~. ‘S my team.”

“Sure. Till I can convince you to adopt some new techniques~ Change is the spark of life you know.” Knock Out ran his servo slowly down Motormaster’s chest and rested it on the bigger mech’s hip, slipping his talons into the wide seam making him jump a bit in surprise.

“Convince huh?” Motormaster dropped his volume to a whisper. “Then you better get healed up quick because I can’t wait for that. I’ll warn ya’ I’m stubborn.”

“ _Of course you are~_ ”

* * *

 

It took a little more ego fluffing and coy promises to convince Motormaster that they wouldn’t need to return to Megatron…..likely ever until however unlikely their paths crossed somehow for a job. Megatron never wanted the kind of service Knock Out sold though so he wasn’t too worried. With the hold now filled to busting with fuel and the stunticons pretty drunk off the excess things were calm and Knock Out had the ship headed for Idex. A well known neutral mechanic who worked well with only the best parts dealers and the only mech Knock Out would ever go to if he had the luck. Hopefully Megatron would cool his thrusters for cycle or two while the ship was getting done if not it wasn’t as if the warlord needed his titan for every battle. He could make do and win the good old fashioned way.

Knock Out had just started to let himself relax since the blast….as much as he could let him himself with a Decepticon gestalt team hitching a ride with him. Hitching a ride? More like he was just flying his own prison ship. It didn’t matter if he was going to where he “wanted” to go the fact of the situation was he was still pretty much a hostage in his own ship and had no way of getting rid of the stupid bruisers once they stopped being useful or started getting too ahead of themselves. Knock Out didn’t even want to think about what they would do if things didn’t work out, if he managed not to live up to his end of the deal and lose one of the idiots in fight, or Primus be what Motormaster was going to do when he learned Knock Out had no plans of putting out for him….plans could change though~ Knock Out quickly shook the thought away even he wasn’t that stupid. He had been alone for too long but there was no reason to get into something like that with an obviously abusive and violent prone brute. It wouldn’t have been the first time though…No. .Motormaster was too big, too dangerous. He could quite literally tear him in half if he wanted and personally Knock Out quite liked his legs and tanks right where they were. He could play off being flirty, give Motormaster some sob story about being torn up in the past and overall displeasing in that department. Give the brute a few pick me ups for his troubles and he’d go back to his other mech no problem but if he fooled around then just quit when he wanted he knew the leader wouldn’t take that too kindly.

The sharp slam of the cockpit door tore him from his worries. The nervous blue one.

Breakdown was venting heavily, his optics wide and fever bright with charge and paranoia. He stalled and nearly tripped over his peds when he saw Knock Out in the pilot seat. Knock Out jumped up and reached for him but nearly fell on his faceplate as Breakdown lurched back.

“FUCK!” Breakdown caught Knock Out before he hit the ground and easily put him back in his seat. “Sorry, sorry- I didn’t….think anyone was flying the ship.”

Knock Out shook off his sneer and annoyance but the tone still lingered in his words. “Why in the world would you think that! I’m not an idiot! This sector's full of asteroid belts! Not to mention we’re scheduled for a solar storm. Do you really think I’d let one of you fly through that?”

“S-s-solar storm!? WHEN? IS THIS SHIP EVEN REGULATED FOR THAT SORT OF WEATHER?”

“This ship isn’t regulated for shit as far as I know. I found them in a Decepticon mass grave after all they didn’t exactly come with papers.”

“W-what?”

“Nothing!” Knock Out swiveled back around and looked out into the vast expanse of space ahead of him. “I’ve been flying this ship for what feels like forever now, though air raids, acid rain, and rust storms. There’s not much I can’t handle. Just go do another few rounds and forget I ever said anything.” Knock Out sighed when he heard the other mechs footfalls inch closer. Maybe if he just didn’t say anything he would go away.

“M-m-motormaster told me to stay close by. Told me I should be at your beck and call. Keeping you off your peds till you’re healed all the way. D-did I really not do a good enough job?” Knock Out didn’t answer, already lost out in the pitch. Mind off anywhere that wasn’t there. He’d seen Dead End do it a million times, just stare at one spot for joors without moving so Breakdown fell to his aft with a slight clunk and pulled two cubes out of his subspace. “D-d-did you fuel up yet?” Holding the cube up he slipped it onto the dashboard just under Knock Out’s servo, half expected it to be slapped away. After what he did he wouldn’t even be surprised if the medic wanted nothing to do with him.

Knock Out’s servo closed around it and started digging around in an arm compartment. “Yeah well Motormaster just wants to fuck me so I don’t really care about his concern for my well being so much. Either way this isn’t my first life threatening injury I don’t need someone to carry me around.”

“Yeah but….doesn’t it still hurt to walk around? You’re not heavy or anything so I don’t mind and you don’t want to take your drugs so….”

“I don’t need drugs. I don’t need anything. Don’t subserve yourself to him just because he thinks he’s in charge. I don’t care how strong he is. A beating is better than being some mechs ego cocksleeve. For bragging on and on about independence and freedom the Cons sure love a lot of plug sucking from their soldiers. At least the Autobots just claim it’s respect.”

Breakdown laughed as he leaned against the chair “Is that why you’re a neutral? Aren’t that good with your mouth?” Knock Out coughed as he sipped at his full cube, small rivulets of it dripping down his lips. He wore a sly smile as he looked down at Breakdown.

“Oh I’m plenty good at that sort of persuasion but usually my words and my skills get me everything I need. The only difference is when I put out to another neutral I’m guaranteed to get something because if they shaft you you’re more than permitted to shove a knife in their back.”

“Ah well then~....count yourself lucky. I need Motormaster and the gang as much as I tell myself I don’t. I’m...useless. Not good enough to frag or...anything else. ‘Cept a punching bag and a soldier and I’m barely good at that. I can’t really afford any more beatings so...I stay in line as much as I can.”

“Yeah….” Knock Out wiped off his lips and chin careful not to scratch his new paint, a pale blue stain already sinking in. “I may just be hearing my own shattered systems but….you guys don’t sound good. None of you. Take it none of you were racers before shit went down? Whoever installed your upgrades didn’t take their time.”

“Most of the guys have back alley jobs. They were lucky to get better engines from the Cons not like they see it that way. My engines been mine forever but it’s...not good. Can’t go past two hundred without it aching. Knocks something terrible I feel like my insides are gonna bottom out. Sucks all the fun out of racing you know?”

“Ooh yeah,that’s rough. At least it’s yours though....I had to pay for mine.”

“At least money gave you what you wanted.”

“You don’t like being a racing frame?”

“Some cycles. It’s good for getting away but….we were never a get away team. Got quick tempers and hot sparks. Fighters. Wreckers before….before the Cons caught us. I don’t know what I want most days just….just that I’m tired of hurting. Tired of being hurt too! Other guys don’t really believe me ‘cause it’s not something they can see! Not a scar I can show off.” Breakdown pulled his knees to his chest and curled in on himself. He shouldn’t have been complaining to a mech who just survive being in the blast zone of an E-bomb. Knock Out wasn’t like the others though, he didn’t seem in the mood to play the pity challenge.

“When you’re the big guy he takes all those hits but you get the pain. Your struts are probably bad. Fuel you get probably sucks too. Not enough minerals or supporting metals to keep things sturdy.”

“Everything on me’s bad.” He was pushing it. Starting to sound like Dead End. One of the others would have told him to shut up by now. Knock Out just went quiet, his attention on outside.

“You know….” Knock Out sounded tired already as he sighed but his words still held genuine concern. “I could fix you up easy. I’ve got plenty of engines for frames like yours. Plenty of dead autobot scouts who thought they could outrace Megatron’s fusion cannon or Starscream’s missiles. You’re just too….jumpy for my taste. I don’t usually risk my time on mechs like you. I’m not gonna sell you slag I’m no university trained medic….but I know how all sorts of Cybertronian bodies are built. Seekers to Cityformers I was taught to dismantle them all. I’m slower at putting mechs back together but I’ve saved plenty of lives and I’ve got steadier servos than most Autobot apprentices. If you think you can keep yourself under and not attack me mid surgery I can probably get you fixed up while the ships getting upgraded.”

“I..uh…” Breakdown could feel himself shaking under the sudden pressure. Since waking Knock Out hadn’t tried to pull any slag and remembering most of the mechs they found in the underground he knew the medic wasn’t lying. Still he barely knew the mech and aside from being sick and unreliable himself it was likely he still held a grudge. Knock Out easily noticed his hesitation.

“How about you just start out with some of this and see if it helps.” Digging back in his arm he fished out something and tossed Breakdown down a small foil packet. Picking up the one he had pulled out for himself he tore into it and poured it into his own cube then swirled the drink around a bit till it turned a silver streaked lavender.Breakdown watched him drink a bit before risking his own energon. As he poured the powder in his energon turned a dark green.

“Hey why’s mine a different color!”

Knock Out didn’t even need to look, he already had the answer. “I gave you one that has more mica in it. You’re looking dull.”

“Oh.” Breakdown hesitated for a long time before he slowly sipped at his fuel, watching as Knock Out hit a few buttons on the dash. He liked how calm and passive the mech was. Motormaster would have hollered at him by now for being an ungrateful wimp. As soon as the fuel hit his intake it felt different. It had a strange cooling sensation...maybe it wasn’t meant to be mixed with energex. Knock Out had no problem downing the rest of his though so maybe it was fine. No okay it **was** fine, it had to be, it still tasted good and he was even feeling really good all of a sudden. Like he did when he would go on solo scouting trips...just himself and the world around him. Calm. It was short lived though. A bout of turbulence suddenly struck the ship shoving it upwards and bouncing Breakdown so much that he may have well just been standing. As his aft hit metal he abandoned his drink and grabbed for the base of the deck chair to keep himself grounded while Knock Out got hold of the ship. Optics shuttered tight he didn’t bother re-onlining them till he felt a gentle servo on his helm.

“I got it tough guy, just had to engage some….slag...I don’t know what they’re called but were good.” Knock Out did have a decent control of the ship despite the gold and  opalescent winds that bombarded around them, the flaring of the dozens of distant stars sending dust and ozone swirling. Breakdown could tell he was struggling though, struts and cables still not as strong as they should have been.

“Hey uh...you want some help with that? Looks rough out there.” Quickly shifting his gaze to the floor he waited for the other mechs sharp berating words but they never came.

“ _Hmm~_ you wanna sit in the captain’s chair that bad?”

* * *

 

Knock Out’s ship made it to Idex just fine and with the passing cycles an easy comfort and acceptance formed. Knock Out wasn’t the crazy murder they feared and while Dead End and Motormaster constantly talked the medic’s audial off, damn near close to flirting every day Knock Out felt himself losing his edge of distrust and revolt. Even Breakdown was coming along better and while his constant saber pup tailing was annoying on a certain level, his constant questions and eagerness to know quite literally every Knock Out knew….wasn’t on some level. He quickly shut the mech down whenever he asked anything personal but he was happy to go on and on about all his medical knowledge. Which he was proud to admit was quite a lot for a mech who taught himself most of it.

Some of the Stunticons however were not impressed with their new roommate.

With the ship being worked on Knock Out had wanted to go into the new abandoned city Idex had set up in and look for supplies. A good deal outside Vos, the city was dotted with labs and clinics much of which thanks to, what had been a high level of radiation and worse an infestation of burrowing circuit crabs, no one had bothered to search. While Dead End and Breakdown were starting to worry that their new medic was likely a lunatic again Motormaster ordered the team to set out in pairs and search for supplies.

Motormaster didn’t need to say a word for the others to know who he was going with and while Dragstrip went off quietly with only Wildrider’s company to incriminate him he just wasn’t having it.

“Did you hear them complaining Wildrider? CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THEM! First Motormaster, then Dead End, and now Breakdown! BREAKDOWN! What is this fucks deal! I bet you any money he’s drugging them or chipping them or-SOMETHING!”

“YAH! Fuck him! Wouldn’t even step on my spike for me and I saved his fucking life!”

“Who does he think he is stealing everyone’s attention! He’s just a lazy brat, he’s fine but he has to pretend to limp everywhere and leak and malfunction- like boohoo we take damage all the time! IT’SNOTABIGDEAL! You don’t NEED Motormaster to carry you around YOU CAN WALK!”

“If I didn’t force him at gunpoint he woulda’ been dead! Ungrateful slagger sits on Motormaster’s lap all day and tries to teach him how to read! I don’t think they’re reading at all! Who needs to read! Fuck that!”

“NOT MOTORMASTER THAT’S WHO! No one needs that ugly little sprew heap for anything! He’s not even that hot! I don’t know what Motormaster sees in him. Under that paint he’s still cracked you know! I bet he’s diseased that’s why it’s taking him so long. We should have just killed him and taken the ship like I said! Now were off doing his chores or whatever and what do we get out of it, sore backs and some decent fuel? WHATEVER!”

“Just would have writhed out there in the hot sun choking on his own throat while turbofoxes and glitch rats ate him alive that’s what woulda’ happened. Trash! Woulda’ been trash. I saved him from being trash and he can’t even be nice and crush me for like one overload, ONE! Junkheap goain’ on at me, “Oh~ you know he can barely walk~ Fuck off! I saw him hacking Launchpad up and sorting him. Wouldn’t even share! Selfish is what it is! Thinks he can take over, thinks he can pull slag over Motormaster till we’re all sucking his plug instead! Too good to hit on me. I’D KILL MOTORMASTER IF HE ASKED ME! I’D KILL THE LOT OF YA BUT NO! I ain’t falling for any of his slag! Not till I get something! Nope!”

“You know Dead End actually told me to fuck off so him and the little rat bastard could have an oil bath and play salon yesterday before we touched down! I’m missing most of the paint on my BACK after that mining slag and he tells ME to FUCK OFF! ME! I pick up all of HIS slack and he’s not even grateful!’

“What’s even the point of what we’re doing! The Cons have medics so we don’t need him but he doesn’t want to go back to the Cons he wants us to run around risking our sparks for what? He’s using us! Him and Motormaster are using us and I’m not gonna buy it fuck them! Motormaster’s just thinking with his spike, moving on to something newer and prettier but when Megatron finds out we’re joyriding around the galaxy fancy boy’s not gonna stick around while we’re doing years chained up in solitary! We’re nothing but free labor to him!”

Dragstrip fell silent for a moment. For a processor rotted lunatic Wildrider still thought clearly through some things. Knock Out may have been living fine on his own with his ship and his scavenging but they were a Decepticon weapon. Part of the cause to be used to….repay for what they did. Megatron would come looking for them eventually. Not personally but...to be honest that was worse. Motormaster wasn’t thinking about the repercussions or spurning the warlord, just the dumb hussy on his lap telling him everything he wanted to hear. “Let’s just kill him. He’s a medic and this place is full of slag heaps. We’ll stash him in a wall or something and when Motormaster’s done having his fun beating the locals left around he’ll freak out and head us back.”

“How we gonna pay for the ship? It sure as hell not coming out of my pockets and I don’t wanna see Lockdown unless I’m hitchin’ a ride.”

“Dead End know’s where the Doc keeps his cash and if it’s gone we’ll just kill them too. Who’s gonna stop us from wrecking this sorry joint?”

Wildrider smiled, his cracked denta rusted red and coated in slick black lubricant. There was a reason the Stunticons refused to look at each other for long, refused to mourn the mechs they had become. Because they had become monsters and while most of them hid it well enough to fool other mechs Wildrider never bothered. “Good point. Let’s have some fun Dragstrip, like the old times.”

“Like the old times.”

* * *

 

Despite their plotting Wildrider and Dragstrip managed to dig around in a few buildings for their own sakes. Breakdown wasn’t the best healer but if he had the supplies he knew how to slap on a foil bandage and some nanites on anything and call it healed. Hopefully with some of the Docs books he could pick up even more however little he likely could. Medicine was trial and error after all, have enough supplies and there’s a chance you’ll find something that works.

Breakdown and Dead End came back with the most loot. Having not only raided the labs and clinics but the shops too. Pleasantries mostly, tattered foil books and ancient lithium tapes but some body works stuff. Fancy tires and paints, bolts of upholstery. Slag only sentimental things like them would care about. At least it was better than what Motormaster and the useless medic came back with. Nothing but chemicals, minerals, and trash.

As Knock Out looked over their haul tsking at most of it Dragstrip felt his energon boil. Here they were actually trying and the slagger didn’t even bother with his own task and now couldn’t even be grateful! “I thought we were looking for supplies! Medicine! That’s what we brought you!”

“Most of it’s decayed. Some of it…...it’s for stuff that wouldn’t be any help to anyone. I told you to look for chemicals and equipment. You’re not just going to find the medicine I need in some ghost town unless you happened to find a factioned med post or something.”

“Oh so we should have just got junk like you did!”

Knock Out didn’t even look up from his pile. It wasn’t as if he was expecting much out of the Cons. He was surprised they brought back anything at all. “No. I didn’t tell you to pick up junk. I picked up what I knew I could use. There’s plenty of working parts in this “junk’ that I can use to build better equipment and weapons. What’s your problem?”

“Oh I think you know!” Dragsrip didn’t even care about Motormaster’s glaring, he was done with this ingrate!

Knock Out continued to remain unfazed.“Okay. Whatever. I’ll see what I can do with all this.”

“Ey I keep the junk I found right? I didn’t find it for you.”

“We didn’t!” Dead End slowly shook his head at Breakdown as he inched his box full of stolen books towards him with his ped. “Well the stuff I found is for you! I saw you had an old player in your room so I thought you might like something new to listen to.”

Knock Out sighed as he gathered up the medical supplies in his arms. Motormaster quickly pulled most of it away from him and tossed it into a box he had in the crook of his arm. The medic sighed as he rolled his optics. “You can keep whatever you want Dead End it’s all yours.” As he followed Motormaster to the back to sort through everything in peace he laid a gentle servo on Breakdown’s arm as a quiet thank you.

Dragstrip had to hold back his retching as he ran off to his room to wait out the night. He couldn’t stand to look at those stupid slaggers anymore. As night fell the racer dreamed of his revenge. Wildrider would take care of most of the work as he usually did but that left the fun part to him. Sure the other Con would want his own blows and he could have him but the sweet sound of hearing the prissy medic scream and beg as his face and tanks and skull were smashed into a new set of of hubcaps would be all Dragstrip's.

He jumped when the door slammed open. Motormaster standing in the shadows. Dragstrip felt his spark start to pound in his chest, the leader had spent most of his nights in the cockpit or stalking the halls all night to bother coming to recharge with the other mech. Dragstrip’s hopes quickly got the better of him, he knew the medic would fuck up sometime and then Motormaster would teach him a lesson. Maybe he already had. The berth creaked as the truck sat down, Dragstrip immediately put a servo on the leader’s knee. “Doc won’t put out again?” Motormaster didn’t say a word until Dragstrip felt his head slam against the slab, one massive servo wrapped around his neck and the other his waist as the brute used the rest of his weight to keep the racer pinned.

“This isn’t about him and you know it~ I don’t like your attitude runt.” Dragstrip felt his spark go dim and cold just as quickly as it had heat up. Motormaster wasn’t even calling him by his name anymore. It...no. Insults were for the OTHER SLAGGERS! Not for him.

“W-what are you talking about Master I- I’m fine.”

“Don’t you think I’m stupid. I know your kind runt and I know you Dragstrip. **_Hmmm~_** ” Motormaster loosened his grip and trailed his digits lightly up and down Dragstrip’s frame. His touches turning firm the lower he got. “ Don’t you worry I’ll put you back in your place. Give you just what you need~”

Dragstrip felt a thorny knot form in his intake. Rage tinging his spark. This was the first time he’d had Motormaster’s attention in over a month and...it was like this. “Oh yeah Master~ Teach me.” Above him Drastrip heard Motormaster laugh softly, his engines revving with a cocky pride but as soon as his grip around the smaller mechs intake grew lax it was all over for him. Dragstrip ran his thin scarred servos over the bigger mechs frame, up his neck, along the sharp lines of Motormaster’s jaw. Trying to lose himself to the memories...but they wouldn’t stick so he bumped the other mech back, reared back, and cold clocked the leader in the face. Pushing himself up off the berth he kicked Motormaster square in the chest sending him crashing into the wall and crashing to the floor.

Standing over the unconscious mech Dragstrip felt tears well in the corners of his optics, his vents hitching as his spark flared uncomfortably in his chest. He kept them at bay for the most part but couldn’t stop himself from falling into the unconscious mech’s lap. Letting his servo’s frame Motormaster’s face Dragstrip pressed frenzied kisses to cold lips as he tried not to fall apart. “I’m not going to let that fuck take you away from me. I’m not. I’M NOT!”

He couldn’t stay now. If Motormaster woke up and he was still around he’d receive a beating of a lifetime. Primus what was fucking taking Wildrider so long?

* * *

 

Together the two drove into the night, an unconscious leaking Knock Out wrapped in tarp trailing behind Wildrider as they sped along the wrecked highways back into the abandoned town. They were silent, not trying to garner any more attention, but Dragstrip could feel Wildrider’s field strobbing with energy and madness. Already high from his fight he couldn’t wait to take his hits.

Frustrated and riddled with anxiety they stopped at the first out of the way building they found. Eighty stories of space to hide one sad lonely medic. Dragging their captive into the rickety elevator Dragstrip watched the bag in Wildrider’s servos swing gently side to side as they ascended. This was going to be satisfying….after a month of just watching Motormaster slip away into the arms of this damn medic he was finally going to pay. There was no one around to save him, no one to scream to, no one to run to, nothing.

Breaking down a door Wildrider dropped their captive to the floor and went to search for a weak wall to start tearing down. Dragstrip couldn’t hold back any longer and kicked at Knock Out through the tarp. It wasn’t the same. He wanted to see the stupid fuck as he beat him to death. Wanted to see him crack and break and cry. Taking no more time he tore open the tarp and let the tattered edges fall to the floor. Inside Knock Out was curled up in a tight ball. Wildrider had already done some serious damage, the medic sporting a cracked optic a broken door and a large gash in his thigh. Energon covering him in a blue sheen. Still that wasn’t enough. Somehow even like this he was still handsome. Still pitifully attractive. It wasn’t fair. Dragstrip didn’t want anyone to feel anything for the selfish little medic. He wanted him to rust and decay alone and unloved like he deserved to be.

Switching out his servos for his trench knives Dragstrip dropped down to pop the medics tires. He’d be waking up soon and if he did before they got him tied up it’d be a hassle. He should have known better. Just as he got close Knock Out’s optics flashed on and a heavy ped kicked him clear across the apartment. By the time Wildrider noticed and was pulling Dragstrip to his peds the medic was gone.

* * *

 

Wildrider caught him off from the highway out and forced him back into the city. The chase making both mechs energon boil with excitement. It had been forever since they had done this, sped through empty streets and running through tight alleys to chase after a mech. The only problem was Knock Out was good at the game too. Just barely healed and already sporting a few freshly opened cracks he wasn’t at his best but he was risky and whenever one of them had the medic cornered he would always do something unpredictable. Jump out a window, pull a few punches. But he left a trail wherever he went and he was getting slow as his energon ran dry. The two Cons were slowing down too...the medic only had his saws left but he had proved he had no problem using them.

Slinking around a residential building Dragstrip clutched at his middle as his trained audials searched for any sound. Him and Knock Out had been playing their little game for minutes now and the medic wasn’t running anymore. He was tired and dying and knew he wasn’t going beat the two with his wheels. The flat brunt of a door caught the racer off guard but Dragstrip reacted as quick as he could. Switching to his weapons he stabbed at whatever he touched and felt his knife sink into metal. Talons ripped at his throat and a knee spike tore into his tanks but Dragstrip refused to back off and used his free servo to wail on the medic’s head. Another one of the medic’s kicks had him dazed as the back of his helm struck metal.

“WHAT THE PIT IS WRONG WITH YOU! HONESTLY IF MOTORMASTER WANTED ME DEAD HE SHOULD HAVE DONE IT HIMSELF.”

“SHUT UP! MOTORMASTER COULDN’T GIVE A GLITCHRAT’S AFT ABOUT YOU! This is personal!” Dragstrip heard the grind of the medic's saw and shriek of it as it bit into the wall where he had just been. Blindly he threw himself against Knock Out’s chest and took the medic to the floor. Knock Out screamed and swore as his weapon bent and screamed it’s futile struggle. A blow to the head threw more stars across Dragstrip's vision but he managed to wrap his claws around the other mech's head and knee him in the throat. He laughed as warm energon trickled into his gears. Yanking the struggleing medic as close as he could he whispered into Knock Out’s audial. “You’ll never have him. Never.”

Knock Out wanted to groan. This? Seriously? How pathetic. “You’re so sad. I don’t want him!”

Knock Out could feel Dragstrip shaking with rage, exhaustion, sorrow. Hot tears splashed onto his helm and dripped down his intake streaking away energon. Dragstrip's voice grew softer as his loathing bloomed. “I know you're just a little con artist playing **HIM** and **US** for all you can get! And that makes it so. Much. Worse. Because it doesn’t matter what you want... it’s what he wants. Do you know what you’re taking. What you don’t even CARE about! I used to be his everything. EVERYTHING and I’ve had...to put up with EVERYTHING just to keep him. He used to be all mine once. Used to be a good mech. Used to love me. Then the war... Megatron…. and now YOU? You think I’m going to let that happen? Let you take even more of him from me! Never. I’m done losing! Not this game, because I'm a champ at this game~ twenty-five-O and counting! ”

Primus that was just…. disgusting...sad….and…..enraging. Knock Out dug his talon into Dragstrip's neck and opened the aperture in his palm. Electricity crackled around them, heating the air and filling it with shrill trills of agony. He could feel Dragstrip tear into him as the other mech spasmed but eventually it became too much. Knock Out tore himself free of the smoking mech and slammed him into the wall a few times for his own revenge. His anger quickly fading Knock Out dropped Dragstrip  but quickly seized him by the intake as he rested in his lap. “So what do you win by beating me? You might not be losing anything but….you don't get anything either.”

“E-e-eA-at S-la-A-a-g.” Dragstrip could sling as many insults as he wanted. Knock Out could read his field like a book. He was cracking.

“I’m serious. You love him but he’s never gonna change. Killing me does nothing to give you what you want.” Knock Out leaned in and rested his helm against the other mech’s. “This war and it’s hot shots took everything from you, not me. If he was willing to leave you for me then he was already long gone. Bots, Cons, not even him. They didn’t give a scrap about you and what you care about. I would say I do...but I don’t….not when you’re trying to kill me at least. Unlike them though.... I can. I don’t want to take anything more from you. So here’s my offer; fuck this war, fuck Megatron, and fuck Motormaster and I will give you everything you want.”

“GO FUCK YOURSELF! YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING. YOU’LL GET US ALL KILLED! I-” Dragstrip’s voice cracked the moment his resolve did. “I- _hughhh_ -I worked so hard. Put up with so much slag. _I-love him….I still want him- I can’t-._ ”

“ _You’ll have him and more... if you want it~_ ” Dragstrip could feel Knock Out’s words as he spoke, feel him as he vented, the other mechs lips so close to his own. It had been so long since someone had cared about him, even pretended to care. He didn’t care if it was a trap, if Knock Out was just doing it for himself, as long as the medic brought him along for the ride Dragstrip couldn’t give a damn anymore. It couldn’t be any worse than it already was.

“ Just like it was before? _When things were-_ ” Dragstrip couldn’t finish his words, he didn’t want to think about the past. The more he did the more he ruined it.

“I’ll do my best but...I’ll need your help.” Dragstrip let Knock Out’s field cascade over him, the warmth of the medic's perfect lies exhausting him, breaking him further. He hated himself for how good it felt to have another mech that close, any mech honestly.

“He’ll kill me if I go back. _I can’t- I just- I don’t know if I can stand it_.” The long talons gripping at his neck gently moved to cradle his face.

“ _I’ll protect you_.”

* * *

 

Motormaster seethed as he stormed through the ship. He’d been driving through that damn city all night and he hadn’t spotted a single sign of Dragstrip or the doctor. Conceding to the worst, that the two had gone and killed each other, he had returned to take his anger out on whoever he could. Finding trails of energon everywhere as soon as he stepped inside and sensing Dragstrips field despite him keeping it as dulled from him as he could he debated whether or not it was worth it to kill the runt for what he had done. The doctor was already dead if Dragstrip had gotten to him and made it back so it wasn’t worth it to lose an arm too. Even if he had to go light there was no fucking way he was going to let the dragster off the hook that easily!

Checking every other room the leader ripped open the door to the medics personal quarters and pushed himself inside, expecting some sort of barrier or roadblock to keep him at bay. What he found was nothing of the sort. The two were sleeping together. Looking like they had both crawled back from the Pit but more than cozy. Dragstrip was curled up, snuggled against the medic. Arms clutching at the smaller mechs aft, face pressed so close into Knock Out’s middle he couldn’t even see the faint spot of sky blue. Knock Out held the traitorous wretch like he’d known him for eons. Servo cradeling the back of Dragstrip’s helm, caressing it. Legs tangled together. As Motormaster’s gaze reached back up he caught sight of the medic’s bright red pinpoints boring into him.

“Is there a problem? Motormaster?” He sounded so weary, so innocent but at the same time knowing exactly what he was doing. If only Motormaster was bright enough to catch that, but he wasn't. He could only laugh. He figured the medic could take a beating but against Dragstrip? That was a surprise. Things were certainly going to be much more interesting now.

“No. You two.... _enjoy..._ yourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you like it! Kudos , comments, and requests as always are appreciated.


	5. Wildrider: ?????Just..????..???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long! I feel like I really had to work on making Wildrider something someone not intensely ruthless could find okay and try to give him some semblance of redeemable qualities that he could have. So uh...he's a very motivational speaker. Hope you like it!

Knock Out didn’t know what he was getting into when he set himself up to play Dragstrip’s rebound but CONSTANT ATTENTION was not it. Not a second went by without having the other mech at his side, in his lap, chatting, touching, kissing, ANYTHING! Dragstrip just needed anything and at any cost too. Dead End or Breakdown wanted to talk? Dragstrip didn’t care. He was happy to just ignore them and string kisses where he pleased and nudge and nuzzle the other mech where he liked till he got affection back. Knock Out needed to work on a project for a client or synthesize more energon? Dragstrip was fine to just chat the medic’s audial off about whatever inane thing he liked that day or the alien audio dramas Knock Out had gotten him into. Motormaster wanted to talk about future plans or get his own time in with the mech? Dragstrip turned up his obnoxious PDA levels to the highest setting to a point where he was practically humping him and trying to get into his panels. Which didn’t seem to do much to the leader. Knock Out assumed he wanted to make Motormaster jealous but if there was anything Motormaster liked more than fragging a hot mech it was two hot mechs putting on a personal show for him. The others though didn’t take this so well.

Some time had passed since the attempted murder and with more than a dozen trips to outer neutral black market planets and plenty of cash, trust and most importantly health and happiness gained between everyone feelings had formed. Dead End… Knock Out wasn’t sure if it was more than friendship but even if it was deeper he put up with Dragstrip the same way Dragstrip put up with him, ignoring him or just letting him in on the fun if baths and buffing were concerned. Breakdown however…..it was hard to tell if Breakdown felt anything since he was so complacent in his mediocrity but the subtle glow that he had in his optics when he chased after Knock Out or lurked in the medbay or parts closet for the medic had faded now that Dragstrip was also there whenever he tried. He knew the mech liked privacy most of all and had grown enough trust to say the things he could never say before around the team before around him and all of that was gone despite the mech still trying his best to get time alone and taking whatever medicines Knock Out advised.

Then there was…. Wildrider. Despite not saying ANYTHING to him since their first meeting the day after the blast Wildrider stared constantly like a Shardback did a neon beetle or a wave moth. Sometimes to the point of drooling even. He’d just…..stare and when Knock Out tired to say anything he’d mumble and run away only to be angry the rest of the day and start over everything the next morning. So Knock Out let him stare, but it was creepy and for some reason, his lack of response only made the mech angrier. He wasn’t the only one.

As much as all of the Stunticons tolerated each other when it came to sharing Knock Out’s time, during the fleeting moments Knock Out took to himself they took it upon themselves to tear at each other's throats. Violently. Without reason. Well….each of them personally knew their reasoning but they had become so tired of each other that even their gestalt channels had turned dismally quiet so none of them had bothered asking each other. That was inevitably put on hold when Knock Out’s radiation sickness flared back to life one night.

They had been flying through a heavily star-studded part of the galaxy and with the air of the ship constantly at freezing to keep if from melting Knock Out had taken to going out on the small deck for small periods to admire the brilliant scene and the intense warmth it brought. So many stars so close to warm all of space with the distance to not risk being smelted alive. It was all the lingering particles stuck deep in his metal needed to roar back to life.

Dragstrip had got the worst of it. One moment they were fine just settling down to recharge in their berth and when a disgusting noise ripped him from it he onlined to find Knock Out retching over the side of the berth. He had ran to get Breakdown but by the time the two got back Knock Out was passed out in a puddle of his own energon. The two panicked for a while, not knowing what could possibly be wrong after months of healing from all of his wounds. The doctor had been fine. They had gone to so many markets, done so many shady deals, so many jobs, ran from so many things that wanted to kill them. As well as had a lot of fun along the way; so to have Knock Out just suddenly keel over was a nightmare made real. They’d practically forgotten what had brought them together already. Which lead everything Breakdown could think to do have zero long-lasting effects. Even if he had though, it wouldn’t have helped.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S WRONG GUYS! HE JUST WON’T GET BETTER!” Breakdown was constantly kliks away from tears as he gave the other cons the news. He’d tried to heal for almost everything, virus, mold, infection, rust, done everything he could think thanks to learning from Knock Out but nothing was making a difference. The best he managed was putting the doctor in a forced stasis in a co2 chamber to keep his circuits from frying themselves.

“WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN HE WON’T? IT’S YOUR JOB TO MAKE SURE HE DOES!” Motormaster was on the mech in an instant, shaking him hard enough for plates to rattle and screws to come loose. The leader’s own panic far too real. They’d all grown used to Knock Out, relied on him to survive and enjoy life and now he was fucked up!? “WE’RE LEADING THE GOOD LIFE NOW JUNKHEAP AND YOU’RE TELLING ME THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO? I’M NOT GOING BACK TO BEING MEGATRON’S TOOL AND STARVING ON SWILL IN A STUFFED SHIP COOPED UP WITH THE LOT OF YA SO YOU BETTER THINK OF SOMETHING NEW YOU CAN TRY AND DO IT!”

“I’ve tried everything! There’s gotta be something else we can do! He’ll last till we get planetside we can meet up with Swindle to drop off the batch of RD and we can get him to find us a real doctor to help!”

“YOU WANNA GET A DOCTOR FOR OUR DOCTOR?! WHOEVER HEARD OF THAT?!”

“It’s more common than you think Motorbreath! What are medics, after all, aliens?”

“You shut your mouth! I’m not dealing with your white noise Wildrider!”

“IT WAS A QUESTION! CUZ’ I DON’T THINK HE’S REAL! HE NEVER ANSWERS ME SO IS HE A HOLOGRAM YOU’VE GUYS JUST FIGURED OUT AND I DIDN’T!?”

“You’ve never said anything to him! I know I was there!”

“Yeah and that bothers me! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS GOTTA BE THERE WHEN I’M HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH HIM?” Wildrider shoved Dragstrip roughly making him trip into Dead End. Instead of letting him fall like usual though the smaller racer easily caught him, sweeping him up to cling at his shoulder before bumping Wildrider in the face with his door, sending the mech staggering.

“What part of “you didn’t say slag” weren’t you listening to?”

Wildrider rushed to shove Dead End back.“YOU DON’T HAVE TO TALK TO HAVE A CONVERSATION!”

Motormaster ignored the three in favor of Breakdown. “Do you honestly think there are gonna be medics on this planet that can treat inorganics?”

“Swindle can get us anything? We’re already paying him out our afts with percentage fees so why not make the fucker work for it! Without Knock Out he’d be hawking whatever he could and dealing with all the consequences it comes with, we give him a steady income!”

“Yeah only because that fucker saw us and blackmailed us! I don’t want to give him any more satisfaction!”

“Well I can’t just keep wasting supplies! I either don’t have what I need or I’m just an idiot.”

“Well we all know which one that is don’t we junkheap!” Tossing Breakdown to the floor Motormaster turned on his heel and headed back to the cockpit.

* * *

They all landed on the glittering planet in sour moods. Knock Out had promised this one would be all movies, fights, races, and games. A place they could really have fun before they would have to go back. At least according to Swindle’s prediction. It certainly looked that way. Crowded with species of all sorts as lights flashed and strobed, walking to bars or other large colorful buildings. It was a shame they weren’t going to really enjoy it.

Swindle sauntered on board as soon as he saw the ship land, picking the lock before Motormaster could even leave to let him in. “Knock Out, beautiful, spark of….my life?” The halls of the ship were unusually quiet. Swindle usually found the crew huddled together in the cockpit and hall all chatting with their leader. A thick feeling of dread started to form in Swindle's intake. He called out to Motormaster as he slipped out of the control room. “Hey now, where’s your leader? Why is this place the pits?”

Motormaster sneered as he poked a bruising digit at Swindle’s chest, almost cracking the glass immediately. “I’m the leader of this team. Remember Swindle? We’re comrades after all.”

Swindle laughed uneasily. “ Of course, of course, ~ I just thought~...well you were selling your services. Nothing wrong with that but it would make the Doctor your boss.”

“He’s not our boss!. He’s part of the team now. And he’s sick so.” Motormaster grabbed the smaller mech by his throat and dragged him up to face level. “Before we do anything for you, you’re going to help him.”

“My little goldmine is sick! Are we off schedule? Are we short this month? I Already made deals, you can’t just spring this on me!” Motormaster tightened his grip till he could just hear Swindle’s white noise over the cracking metal. “There’s a great hospital on the planet! You know how big racing is here? Most of the luxury class that made it out alive came here. Best docs you could hope for!”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Motormaster took a few short steps down the hall and pounded on Breakdown’s door. “BREAKDOWN! GET UP, SWINDLE’S HERE!” There was muffled crashing and groaning before the door cracked open. Motormaster threw Swindle down at the other mech’s peds.  
“You were right for once. Make sure Swindle pays whatever he has to.”

“Excuse me?!” Swindle looked up at the bigger mech, aghast.

“You heard me.” Swindle grumbled under his breath but said nothing, just grabbing at Breakdown to pull himself up.

“What in the pit did you losers do? Please tell me he still managed to get all the units done!”

“He got most of them done….I finished the last five or so.”

“You!?” Fear and shock splashed across Swindle’s face but easily slipped away. “Well I suppose that won’t be too bad~ There was one buyer who thought they could shaft me with his damn muscle so we can give those batches to him. This better be a real problem! This hospital’s not cheap! I wasn’t kidding the old smokestack over there this place only deals in the best since most of the mechs on this place are celebrities!

“His spark was dying before I put him into stasis.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Breakdown shook his head as Swindle bit at his knuckles. “You guys are fucking idiots.”

With the moneymech’s DFN and directions Breakdown and Dead End went off to the hospital with Knock Out while Motormaster and Dragstrip went off with Swindle to finish deals and sell whatever of their product they had left at the market. Leaving Wildrider in charge of the ship. It had been difficult getting the lunatic to stay still when there was nothing but cash and fights to win just outside but Swindle promised that all the brutes could have there fun once everything was sold. Wildrider was still bitter but the idea that he would be alone suddenly dawned on him.

Waiting till all of the others were gone Wildrider started inching closer to the cockpit then took a turn and slipped into Knock Out’s room. Everyone had been in there in some capacity or another except him and it wasn’t fair! What was so special about it? What was he missing out on? Why was he the only one the medic ignored!? Dead End and Breakdown didn’t talk much but they still got attention! He needed to find the secret.

Inside he didn’t learn anything. It was just a room. Sure it had more stuff in it than the others but nothing special. It smelled nice. Like wax and soap and cleaner. Was that it, was it pheromone in disguise? If not why were the rest of the team so intent on getting the medic’s attention now. Even Dragstrip was all over him now when they had been killing buddies not a few months ago! He just didn’t understand it. Sure the neutral was good looking but the whole team was good looking in some way or another and they weren’t all committed to having fucking orgies every second they could!

Still the doctor did have his moments, the way he would rip apart corpses and down whole bottles of energex in single sittings, the way he would triple tap attackers even if they were organics and the first shot clearly blew the head off. The way he would smile when one of their targets frothed at the mouth and died after drinking all of their poisoned drink. The mechs delight in wanton carnage just hidden beneath his proper attitude and clinging morals was so hot. Wildrider just wanted the mech to see he appreciated that. That they could be wanton murderers together while they made out in pools of spilt energon and fucked skulls under clear night skies. He’d did it with Dragstrip! They’d been murdering each other and the next thing he knew they’d run off back to the ship to snuggle! None of the others cared about that though! They didn’t appreciate the feeling and warmth of freshly spilt energon or the way fear smelled differently on every single mech. Those sorts of the doctor’s truly beautiful moments were squandered on weaklings like them!

With no questions answered Wildrider made the trip into a treasure hunt. He already had so many treasures from the doctor : bent sawblades, a clamp the doctor used to shape his digits, a cracked glass that he’d cut his lip on, a tiny bottlebrush that smelled so strongly of his preferred oil, an old foil pad that was full of the medics drawings, and one of the medics smaller support blocks. They were all great but he wanted something more. Something that really made him think of the Doctor. After all if those other losers were going to take up all of his time he might as well take a few of his things. Not all of them like his greedy teammates but enough to feel connected. And maybe something a little more.

Sneaking into the small washrack attached to the quarters Wildrider found the small pile of cleaning cloths Breakdown had tossed into the corner after cleaning up the poor Doctor’s mess. They had gone dark blue but still reeked of perfumed energon. Wildrider pressed the cloth to his face and vented deeply. Primus, it was good. Not nearly as good as it could have been but good enough. He picked up a few more of the bottom-most ones that were still wet and headed back to his room.

Throwing them on his berth Wildrider dug around in his personal cabinet till he found Launchpad. The skull stared up at him with half-lidded optics. “Morning Launchpad~ You have a nice recharge?” The skull said nothing in response but Wildrider slumped onto his berth snuggling the thing all the same. “That’s good I know it’s been colder than Unicron’s spark in here lately. Look what I found!” He threw one of his ill-gotten rags onto the skulls face before huffing again at his own. The wet ones much more pungent and satisfying. “I know it is good, isn’t it? Mhhmmm~ If only he’d pay more attention to us! He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Do you think he can go over four hundred with that engine of his? Shiny and chrome~ Like his thighs. Always so indecent. Doesn’t even keep glass over it like Dragstrip. Just right behind that pretty grille of his. Do you think his spark could take it? That’s what all the fancy racers used to say, all in the spark.” Wildrider lulled into a silence as he just enjoyed the smell of Knock Out’s energon and the idle chatter of Launchpad.

Laughing suddenly Wildrider pulled off his rag and Launchpad’s and kissed the skull's split lip plates. Most of the liquid metals and energon had gone hard but it was still soft enough to feel real. It had been cold after all so Wildrider’s kiss wasn’t the softest either. “You’re right Launchpad maybe he is just tired. I mean he has to deal with all of those fuckers every day of his life and one more is just- bah~ Can’t do it. That’s why every now and again he gives me those looks. Just checkin’ up. I don’t need a lot! Am I jealous? Yes! Do I need it like everyone else? No! A mech only has so much emotional energy to use and I already have you. One day when his novelty wears off and he’s not so stressed then he’ll see.” Wildrider kissed Launchpad again, this time pecking a few more over the skull as well.

“You’re so good to me Launchpad. I wish Whirl was here I think he’d like you….or he might punt you out to the stars. He-he~ He’s so jealous sometimes. I’d go after you though. He’s just pissed he doesn’t have a mouth anymore but I never knew him when he had a mouth so I don’t know why he gets so angry.” Wildrider pulled Launchpad close to his chest and brought his legs back up to his chest. “I miss him.”

There was a sudden noise out in the hall. Wildrider shot up and hid Launchpad back in the cabinet as he checked his chronometer. He’d been drifting off for a few hours now it seemed. “Must be Junkheap and Sadsack.” Heading out into the hall to meet the two Wildrider couldn’t help but be taken aback by the smell of fresh metal and rubber. The two were looking rather off-put. Breakdown was holding the doctor, all shiny chrome and new so things must have gone well at the hospital. “What’s wrong with you slaggers?” Breakdown turned to glare but didn’t respond. Dead End took the blow.

“It’s nothing. You can go out if you want now.”

“I’M NOT AN IDIOT I KNOW WHEN JUNKHEAP IS SAD! WHY ARE YOU SAD?!”

“What would you even care? You don’t even listen to half the things we tell you!”

“JUST TELL ME!”

“YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW!”

Breakdown was only back on the ship for a few seconds and he was already tired of being there. “I fragged up alright?! I knew how to fix him but I just didn’t have the supplies but I could have just bought them from anywhere. Then that damn place they just…….they didn’t fix him they just…..replaced him. Like it was nothing. Just scanned him and came out with brand new parts. Rebuilt him with new everything. Everything they could at least. THEN THEY HAD THE FUCKING….. It’s all my fault. He’s gonna hate me.” Tears were forming at the corner of Breakdown’s optics.

“If he even wakes up. Those fucking lunatics. When Swindle and the others get back here I’m punting that little shyster as far as I can!”

Wildrider still didn’t understand. “So~ Is the Doc healed or not?”

“He’s not. He never will be and it’s all my fault for being an idiot and letting slag go for too long!” Breakdown shoved past Wildrider roughly as he made his way to the captain’s quarters. Leaving little time for the other mech to react. Dead End was no help either, just slipping into his own room without another word.

“FINE!” Wildrider was done with his teammates. If they didn’t want to tell him slag that he needed to know then he’d find it out on his own! Except outside he was easily distracted. The city they had landed in was huge and knowing it was only a segment of the planet made it seem even more amazing. Five minutes in the streets and the hospital was so far out of his mind it may have not even existed. The only boring part was it all cost cash and while that wouldn’t be a problem usually the Doctor and Swindle seemed to like this place and probably wanted to be able to return. So he had to go make some. Swindle had warned that the races would be far too tricky but those were only the big money tracks. There were plenty of underground tracks that were just up Wildrider’s alley.

* * *

As soon as his wheels touched down on slick metal, just finely textured to give wheels enough grip, the Con felt like his old self again. It wasn’t much different from what he was now or at least he didn’t think so but it was different. There was the buzz after buzz of the starting line and the rush as he took off as quick as he could, teasing the other racers. His engine might not have been the best but he had enough spark to show those slaggers what for. And he made sure to, the brave ones who thought they were clever or strong enough never stood a chance as the Stunticon bumped them away or sent them flying off the track. It wasn’t the carnage he craved, it wasn’t screaming or begging or wailing for mercy but it was something and at the end, after every win, there were pats on the back and raucous applause. Friends. Mechs and even organics who were just as vicious as he was. It was a nice change of pace.

He’d been out drinking with a few of the other Cybertronians he’d managed to meet and one very cute tiny organic who was clearly just looking for free booze but Wildrider didn’t mind, she was funny and her set of glinting diamond knives told the mech she was just the kind of crazy for optimal friendship, when Wildrider found something he just needed. They had said goodbye to three of the other racers and were switching bars when they spotted another underground track advertising its prizes in the window. One of them was an obviously drugged Cybertronian set up in a cage and painted and dolled up like a high-class service drone. Wildrider couldn’t help but stare.

Gearbox, a heavier build, threw his arm around the smaller mech as he smiled. “Looking for a good night eh Wildrider? Listen I know a much nicer place where we can just pay and don’t have to risk our drunk afts and the mechs there want it!”

“Gearbox is right Ruby Sparks is the nicest place I’ve ever been too. I certainly wouldn’t mind the trip myself.” Slickback mirrored Gearbox as she sighed just thinking of the place. Her little organic snickering on her shoulder.

“We’ve given that place so much of our money we might as well be investors. We could go book Nova and give her the best night of her life.”

Slickback laughed at her friend as she flicked the organic gently on the nose. “Palma you know Nova doesn’t take Bots. She’s a femme only kind of mech.”

“Her loss!” Slickback’s engine choked slightly as she continued to laugh. Palma had been eyeing Gearbox all night.

Wildrider wasn’t paying much attention to his new friend's idle chatter. He knew a service drone when he saw one and the mech in the window was anything but that. “That’s no service drone that’s'a nerd! Who do they think they are trying to pawn off a nerd!”

Standing on her peds the femme gave the bot another look.“Oh, Primus, you’re right! That’s….well that’s just sad for everyone involved. Still let’s get going before their bouncer gives us trouble.” Slickback tried to tug Wildrider along but he stayed firm.

“I want the nerd.” Wildrider had vaguely remembered Knock Out saying something about missing mechs. Friends of his that were also nerds. Maybe if he brought the Doctor the scientist he’d feel better. “It’s only fourth place to get him.”

“Yeah because they know they’re shafting you. We’re more than too many drinks in do you seriously want to do this?”

“Yes.” Wildrider pressed his servo to the glass, slowly the mech in the cage did the same. “He’s perfect.”

This underground circuit had a little more competition. The prize money over a hundred thousand chits but Wildrider only saw it as a challenge and with his newfound friends fourth place wasn’t such a lofty goal. The owners of the house laughed as they took his entrance fee either taking them for idiots or soft sparked suckers. Wildrider supposed it was the latter since he wasn’t going to force the mech to do what he’d been captured for but he wasn’t just going to let the mech go either.

The track was surprisingly small for over a dozen racers but that added to the excitement didn’t it. You had to fight your way to victory. As the countdown started Wildrider’s vision was already blurry but with Gearbox behind him and Slickback, only a lane over they were pretty much bumpers. Even still it only took him five kliks to get pushed off the track but only ten to knock out five racers who were in his way. Lightweights who were used to the competition of the planet’s best they flew like blind seekers into the walls of the place with even the nicest bump. He could hear Slickback and Palma laughing ahead of him even her slight frame able to knock her opponents into the wings. Sometimes it paid to be a fast warframe. With Gearbox taking out two of the fastest bots it took nothing for Slickback to take first and Wildrider to take third. He didn’t know or even care about the third place prize but he was happy to hand over the decent amount of chits for the sad nerd in the window. The owner had no problem since it was the house’s racer anyway.

With their prizes the motley crew headed off to another bar to get their new friend some fuel to flush his tanks a bit. Wildrider carried them on his shoulders, letting the wind and light rain cool them off and liven them up. Whatever he’d been given certainly wasn’t as good as the Doc could do because every now and again his optics would liven up and he’d mumble and beg. Wildrider played with the mech’s long digits as he sipped at his drink, Palma doing so as well with the mech’s other servo.

“Ehy Wildrider, do you even have a ship to take this poor thing to or do you live on planet?”

“I’ve got a ship and someone who’ll be very happy with me.” Slickback’s smile fell.

“Oh that’s a bummer. Why isn’t this mech with you?” Gearbox had leaned in now, eager for gossip.

“He’s with my other teammates.”

Gearbox laughed heartily as he sloshed most of his drink to the floor. “You still fuck with Megatron and the war? Are you mad? You could be making a killing on your own or with me if you’d like I got a spare room.”

“That’s what we were doin’! We just can’t run for good like any other slagger though unless we want to end up on the DJD’s list. Like we couldn’t take them! I know I could.”

“No slag! The actual DJD? You must be pretty high up in the ranks then?”

“No. We’re their weapon. Combiner.”

“Bust my bearings are you really? ! I’ve always wanted to see one of them! Which one are you?”

“Menasor! We’re obviously the best!”

“Yeah~! You’re the first one ever made not using some dumb shiny plate! That can’t be easy to deal with.” Slickback was practically in Wildrider’s lap now her fever bright optics glued to his. “So is this friend of yours…..you two hooking up?”

“Why would I do that? I already have to hook up with four other mechs and it sucks!” Slickback laughed airily as she played with one of the mechs shoulder wheels.

“You’re…. so~ funny Wildrider.”

* * *

When Quazar started to slip back into consciousness and Slickback and Palma started to slip out of it, Wildrider started back. Her and Gearbox had been traveling together long enough for him to take care of her. So they parted ways with each others DFNs and not much else. Wildrider still had some chits but not nearly as many as Motormaster would have made him keep.

Quazar groaned as he slapped against Wildrider, leaving slight scratches with his long spindly digits. “Who the fuck are you? I swear to Primus I’ll hack your systems so hard you’ll be drooling transfluid if you touch me!” Wildrider laughed at the threat.

“Good one nerd!”

“N-nerd? Y-you know what I am then!? Please I can help you just help me get back to Cybertron! I got shafted in a deal and sold to some rich slagger!” Or at least that’s what the mech wanted to say but with most of his circuits still numb what he actually managed to say was nothing like that. Wildrider got the gist at least.

“That sucks.”

“Yes! Yes it did so will you help me?”

“Well~ kind of. It all depends on what the Doc says. If he likes you you’re probably gonna have to stick around.”

“KIND OF- Wait are you saying you have a personal medic?”

“Yes! You’ll love him everyone else does for no reason. I think it’s because he drugs them.”

“Sounds like a smart medic. You’re a Con, aren’t you? No Bot would set foot on this slagpit.” Quazar looked off into the distance as he let himself relax. Wildrider’s grip was tight enough to let the tech mech know he wasn’t getting away and his foggy memory of his conversation told him running wouldn’t get him anywhere even if he could.

“So what if I am! I STILL SAVED YOUR AFT FROM BEING SOME SLAGGERS SERVICE DRONE!”

“Would you just like all of my important organs now? Because I’d like to die with a little dignity.”

“Our Doc isn’t like that. He only takes those things from corpses.”

“So does every other medic. What’s important is how they make those corpses!”

“Do you have any money?”

“No~ You know I don’t have any money!”

“Then you’ll be fine.” Wildrider felt Quazar slump against him.

“Oh I feel so safe. Whatever anything is better than being in this Pit anymore.”

“Glad you see it that way!” The two continued to walk in silence….well Quazar was silent Wildrider continued to talk nonstop about anything he wanted. Slowly the ship came into view, Quazar stiffened noticing quite the large amount of mechs lingering outside.

“Those all your friends? They look like slaggers.”

“Yeah but not my slaggers. Keep quiet Quazar we’re gonna sneak up on them.”

“How do you know-”

“I said quiet!” Inching closer Wildrider hid behind the biggest thing he could while being the closest he could. Swindle was standing outside with a few other mechs. Tall, skinny twins who looked shady as they could come. Their battle masks sporting painted smiles. Behind them even bigger hulking brutes. Not saying anything. “Ugh Cliche~ They haven’t killed a real thing in their lives.”

“Yeah no shit they’re mnemosurgeons. They don’t have to!”

“Quiet Nerd~ What did I tell you?”

“Fine!” Over the gentle rush of the wind Wildrider could just pick up their conversation.

_“We told your friends it was all we could do.”_

_“Not our fault~”_

_“It’s not lethal just chronic.”_

_“We don’t owe you anything~”_

“Yeah, yeah, yeah or- He could just die tomorrow! I know how radiated sparks work and it’s not pretty! Listen, as it turns out most of the big shots here and on the other parts of the galaxy like this one want what I’m selling and it’s a drug that only he knows how to make! My buyers pay big money for it! So if constant radiation flare ups are going to make him go ditzy down the short line I want that slag now! I’m not asking for a refund I’m asking for your services again and in return for letting you use the formula for free which I know you will anyway I’m just asking that you just take a little off my tab.” The twins looked at Swindle and then at themselves. Debating.

_“Deal.”_

_“Give him to us~”_

_“We’ll do you even better. Get everything we can and leave him at peace. 120 percent.”_

_“He’ll want for nothing. Waste away happy~ Like all of them do.”_

“You think I’d ask you to bring orderlies if I could just get him out of here? Every idiot on this ship is in love with him for some reason and that’s saying something because they don’t like anyone for longer than a cycle and remember that they like them! I don’t have the strength or the firepower to tango with them and still keep friends. They’re Megatron’s property after all, so no killing.” Swindle couldn’t help but twitch and shift in the wind. He was playing with fire and maybe even felt a little guilty, Knock Out was a decent enough friend, not just a client but a manufacturer, but there was no way he was going to let this mine go dry too when he was already doomed to lose one of his best medical engineers.

_“Understood.”_

_“Go play dumb~”_

Wildrider watched Swindle head off still trying to piece together what was going on. Quazar couldn’t help but notice. “Looks like that tiny slagger is gonna sell out one of your friends. Which one makes the drugs?”

“The Doctor obviously!” Gears slowly turned in Wildrider’s still tipsy processor. Breakdown had been sad about something with the Doc and now Swindle was trying to get him sent away to more doctors but behind the other's backs. It didn’t add up. “This is shady Quazar.”

“You think? Anything with Mnemosurgeons is shady! They’re all slaggers who ran from Megatron after they were hunted down! And that’s coming from me who’s also from a caste that Megatron wanted hunted down!” Quazar honestly couldn’t believe how big of an idiot the mech was. Con’s were supposed to know this sort of slag!

“Wait are you a Mnemosurgeon? I thought you were a tech nerd!”

“I am a tech nerd but do you really think I can’t fuck with a mech so hard even aerials don’t know which way is up? We’re all nothing but tech! We worked with them! Well I didn’t I never left the underground but still when a mech has a vendetta against your caste he doesn’t ask questions like that!”

“Are they going to kill him? I’ll never get him to notice me if they do that!”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter! No mech ever goes under their servos and comes out right!” Wildrider grabbed a Quazar’s face.

“Alright I know what we’re going to do.”

* * *

The two waited till the strange medics had Knock Out and were heading back to wherever they were going to follow them. Wildrider trying to follow Quazar’s streaming frame. It may have been a drive in the quickly pouring rain but there was just something so sweet about seeing Motormaster get his aft shocked into submission. “WHY IN THE PIT DO YOU KEEP SWERVING! WERE ON A MISSION NOT PLAYING TAG!”

“THEY KEEP SWERVING! You don’t have to yell you know you’re in my comm!” Quazar didn’t even know why he just didn’t run off! These mechs obviously nothing but lunatics. But it was better to be with lunatics that one knew and sane mechs one didn’t and at the least he owed the mech a favor. “I think they know we’re tailing them.”

“GOOD!”

“Good?! WHAT’S GOOD ABOUT THAT?”

“Then they’ll be scared out of their protoforms!”

“You’re an idiot and we’re going to die tonight.”

“At least you’re living it if you do!” Quazar had to give that one to the mech. This did beat sitting in a grungy cage waiting to be won. He could have done without the mechs crazy laugh though. Made it feel like that had less of a chance at survival than he already thought he did.

At the hospital they gave the mechs time to get in and get comfortable after losing them and circling back. Quazar was positive he hadn’t managed to be that sneaky but it was something. “You know I’m not a spy right? I’ma’ IT mech, a city worker! I can’t even shoot a gun!”

Wildrider stared at him unfazed. “Well now’s a good time to learn. You want one of mine?”

Quazar winced as Wildrider showed off his packed hip belt. “Not really. Just know you can’t rely on me. I’ve never actually done any of the things I’ve threatened you with and these slaggers have been thriving on this planet for years now.”

“Yeah but you still can right?”

“Theoretically.”

“The put those theories into practice nerd! You’re still my present and I’m not bringing the Doc another corpse! NO WEAKLINGS FEEL YOUR RAGE! DO YOU WANT TO GET SHOVED BACK IN A CAGE?!”

“No of course not. Do you really need to yell?”

“DO YOU WANT TO GET PUT BACK IN A CAGE?!”

Quazar gave up. “NO I DO NOT WHAT TO GET PUT BACK IN A CAGE!”

Grabbing the taller mech roughly Wildrider pulled Quazar down so he could look the other mech in the optic. His voice at a whisper but still as fervid and insane as before. “Then tonight you’re going to taste your own energon, feel the dripping warmth of your enemies on your long creepy digits and you’re going to like it! We’re going to kill everyone of these sick glitches of Solus and watch the light die in their optics! We’re gonna bathe in their oil and fuck their skulls and then when we get what we came for we’re gonna make out! But. Only. If. You. Want. To!” Dizzy from Wildrider shaking him and the thrum of the built up charge from the storm Quazar could only agree.

“OKAY!”

They snuck in through a window in a storage closet and as soon as they got out into the dark halls of the hospital were separated. Wildrider going one way and Quazar going another. By the time the Con turned back to even look for his friend they were already floors apart. Wildrider couldn’t worry though because he knew he was close. The wing he was in was dark and cold and filled with the wailings of mechs who had driven into a wall one too many times. He had just spotted on of the orderlies who had taken Knock Out, still dripping tracks when he felt a warm vent of air at his back. Hoping it was Quazar he was displeased to turn and find a bright energon prod stabbing him in the chest. His luck it seemed had run out for today.

* * *

He didn’t remember much. Someone carrying him, pain, the feel of digits in his chassis but he tuned them all out. Only surging online when heard Quazar yelling. Energon splattered across his face as he sat up, a body slumping to the ground a few inches in front of him. Quazar smiled and threw his sticky arms around him. He reeked of energon and was speckled with a limited pallet of other types of blood.

“Hey! You’re alright! They were trying to revamp you so they could sell you to one of the houses! I killed them! I’ve killed so many things today. Also I found your friend.but he won’t wake up. I think when they detoxed him they sent his spark into shock and put him into a stasis. I can force him online but there are a dozen angry medics who want me dead.

“THEY TOOK MY FUCKING ARM!”

“Yeah well be glad they didn’t didn’t start on your insides yet! You can fight without an arm. Here!” Quazar handed Wildrider a pair of dripping scissors, an eyeball still stuck to one of the sharp points.

Wildrider turned and put a comforting arm around Quazar’s neck. Pulling him into a hug.“You’re my favorite new treasure Quazar.”

* * *

Knock Out woke up to an aching spark and the sight of two mechs drenched in fluids at his side, both panting andlooking at him as if they’d been waiting for groons. As he sat up he noticed all the corpses littering the floor and his helm resting on a counter. What in the world had happened? Oh…. right he’d ran out of pills and of course the supplies to make more only a few days before touchdown.

He took his time facing reality. Feeling out his frame. Something had happened to him. His parts were….different but some of them were still the same. His sensitive digits still moved like they used to but the casings slid against each other like mercury on glass. It been eons since they’d felt that good even with the best buffing. Finally he looked at Wildrider.

“Wildrider where am I and why do I look like this? Why do you look like that? What happened to your arm? Who the Pit is this?”

Wildriders glossia felt heavy in his mouth as it always did when Knock Out actually tried to talk to him. The mechs sharp optics always so entrancing. Even now the new ones already slowly turning black from the medic’s sickness. Quazar took notice and took it upon himself to explain everything. “I don’t know who or why you’re really here but we saved you from mnemnosurgeons and some tiny mech who wanted your drug secrets and Wildrider saved me and planned on giving me to you for some reason I don’t know why but I’m stranded and would like a ride and if you guys need me to help with anything I can because I’m IT caste and I think you need that position filled in your weird gang or whatever you are!”

“I-uh-what?” Knock Out’s processor was so fuzzy it almost itched and this nonsense wasn’t helping!

“My name’s Quazar! Please take this thing from me I’ve already killed too many and I’m starting to freak out now!” Knock Out carefully took the energon prod from the mech as he sidestepped the corpses to get closer to Wildrider who was backing himself into a corner.

“Wildrider what is all this? What did you do!? “

This was it. He finally had the Doctors attention. He’d saved him from Swindle’s slagger and had given him his gift and Knock Out was still angry, still unsatisfied. As he should be. It wasn’t enough. He had to say something! Had to prove he wasn’t a mindless drooling lunatic who was too scared to talk to a mech way out of his league. If he didn’t everything he’d done meant nothing! “SWINDLE FOUND OUT THAT YOU’RE GOING TO BE SICK FOREVER THANKS TO JUNKHEAP AND TRIED TO HACK YOU LIKE A DATAPAD!”

“I’M NOT GOING TO BE SICK FOREVER WHO TOLD YOU THAT?! WHY AM I HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? WHO FUCKING TOUCHED ME! WHAT-” Knock Out suddenly stopped. He could hear Wildrider’s spark racing, whining with strain, he could hear his plates rattling too. He was….so afraid for some reason. Was he actually afraid of him to the point he couldn’t even talk? This lunatic who had forced him across half a city at gunpoint!? Was scared of him? It didn’t matter he wasn’t going to get any more information out of him anyway and the last thing he was going to do was yell at him for something he could barely explain like Motormaster did. He had what he needed.

Taking a moment to get his helm back and do a quick check Knock Out grabbed at Quazar’s servo and pulled the stunned mech along with him. “Wildrider?” With his tone calm now Wildrider managed to give him an enthusiastic nod. “Thank you for saving me. So...what say we go back to the ship and you help me stab Swindle with our new toy again and again till he tells me what the fuck was going through his greedy little mind.”

This was the best day of Wildrider’s life. He knew there had to be something about the Doctor. Shivering with giddy energy Wildrider grabbed at Knock Out’s servos. “We need to burn this place to the ground first!”

Knock Out tried not tear himself away from the mech. Wildrider did have a point. “How about you just go shoot up the security room so they can’t watch the tapes and send a bounty hunter after us.”

“Can we go do it together!? Please~” Knock Out knew indulging the Con was likely the beginning of the end for him...but he looked so cute all excited and begging.

* * *

After coming to an understanding with Swindle and getting started on Wildrider’s replacement arm Knock Out was feeling exhausted and headed to the cockpit. With Motormaster still knocked out in his berth it was likely he wasn’t going to get to lie down anytime soon. Which was a shame. His spark hurt and he could already smell the tinge of smoke his new metal gave off. He’d need to get supplies tomorrow. Make more pills. Or he’d be risking a repeat scenario in only a few cycles or so.

He wasn’t surprised when Breakdown ran in and ruined his quiet time.The mech was shocked to see him, onlineing just after what had been an attacker shocking him. A series of emotions crossing over his face quickly and resting on guilt. “Doc, you’re up….and okay. That’s good. I was worried-”

“Swindle sent the mechs to attack you.”

Actual anger lit Breakdown’s bright gold optics. It was a look Knock Out rarely saw on the Con. “WHAT THE PIT! I’LL KILL HIM, HE’S ALWAYS DOING THIS SLAG!”

“Yes he is.” Knock Out sighed as he leaned back in the chair trying to get comfortable. “I’ve dealt with him for a while now. It’s sort of expected. Like a fun game except not fun and leave’s me retching from panic most times. We’re fine.” Breakdown winced and tried to look anywhere else. When he noticed Knock Out wasn’t looking at him though he slowly sat on the floor, slipping one of his servos over the other mechs and holding it tightly. Knock Out slipped his digits between Breakdown’s.

Breakdown fought the urge to pull away. He liked Knock Out’s touch. Liked being with him. He just had to keep reminding himself that Knock Out wasn’t like everyone else. “I’m sorry I ruined your life. If I had paid better attention or-”

“I was jumpstarting a mech when the blast hit. I’m lucky to be alive. Nothing you did caused my problem I was already dealing with it.”

“Doc? Why didn’t you tell us?”Knock Out was laughing now and Breakdown couldn’t help but pout a bit. He was serious! Knock Out stopped when he caught sight of his sour look.

“You didn’t need that. Besides, there’s nothing you can do. It’s not like there’s any better treatments out there.”

“Yeah but….all of the slag they warned us about. The processor damage, the tremors, the corroding circuits, the instant death! Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Hmm maybe but I could either turn into Dead End or just ignore it and hope I live long enough for my spark to heal itself. I don’t mind taking the suppressants and detox baths. Even if I won’t be able to go as fast as I usually can. At least I’m still faster than Dragstrip.”

“B-b-but what if somthin’ does happen?”

“You do still want to learn enough to be my nurse right? I believe in you. I’m no genius myself and I learned.” Breakdown looked at his peds, his blush turning his face purple. He didn’t want to even think about Knock Out dying again. It wasn’t fair. Nothing Knock Out said changed Breakdown’s mind that’d he’d brought his own personal curse on the medic. So Knock Out lied to give him hope. “I’ve survived much worse though so I’m still not worried. Even if things get worse before they get better. I would be happy to lose a few things! Wouldn’t you?” Breakdown couldn’t stay dour while looking at that smile.

“I guess. I...it would just be a shame to have you basically turn into one of us. Decepticon trash.” The two sat in silence just listening to the thrum of each other’s frames. Knock Out drifting off in his chair. “Doc?”

“Hmm?”

“If…..you think you can get better…...do you think we could? I w-wasn’t anything special before but I at least think I was happy. I...I think we all were. I want to be happy again….preferably not just when I’m with you….. cause’ I know I’ll wear ya’ thin real soon that way and I-I-I don’t want that.”.

Knock Out shifted again in his chair and groaned sleepily. “I think we’re past that point considering aside from Wildrider none of you have really been pulling your weight as bodyguards and I haven’t kicked you off the ship yet.” Knock Out flicked one of ridges of Breakdown’s helm teasingly. Breakdown looked up from his peds despite his lingering blush, a smug smile on his face.

“Hey that’s not true! I saved you from being crushed by those rocks after that slagger punched you into the cliff on zeta-12! I tried to reach him before but there were a lot of guys and you were practically dancin’ with him you were moving so much! If you ran more than fought maybe I could save you more!”

“Ah yes right~ My hero! I’ve learned running only makes them want to chase you and it’s fine if you can get away but you usually can’t.”

“Well I’ll get you outta anything from now on I promise! That way Dead End won’t bitch so much about ruined paint.”

“I see.”

“See what?”

“What you need.” Knock Out quickly changed the subject after that despite Breakdown’s demand for answers. Their “fight” ended as most of their private conversations did getting far too personal and flirty till they were venting heavily on the floor and light headed from laughing. And as usual had Motormaster coming in to ruin it.

Knock Out couldn’t say that was the case this time since the usually gruff leader was clearly distraught even if it was hidden under a thick layer of anger. Breakdown left with his optics cast to the floor, all the joy in his voice gone now that his boss was here. Knock Out could only sigh and let him go. As much as he hated the leader for how he acted after hearing so many of Dragstrips stories it was hard not to imagine that he was once a decent mech despite his dubious actions that made him seem like a monumental slagger now that he was a much bigger piece of slag….and Primus that frame. Sometimes Knock Out really hated himself. He really needed to discharge more.

Motormaster almost had to take a knee as he grabbed at Knock Out. “Let me kill him! Can’t blackmail us if he’s being picked apart in a shallow grave!” Knock Out would give Motormaster one thing he was quick on the uptake.

“You don’t know Swindle. It’s not that easy and I don’t need a fleet of bounty hunters after me for something as petty as this.”

“He tried to off you!”

“Yes well I vaguely remembering you offering me the same option at one point. Wildrider was there. All’s well that ends well.”

“SCREW THAT SLAGGER! IT SHOULDA’ BEEN ME BUT THEY CHEATED! USING THOSE DAMN PROBES! COULDN’T EVEN PUT UP A REAL FIGHT! I WOULDA’ RIPPED THEM TO BITS!” Knock Out could feel the pounding of Motormaster’s spark already so angry.

“No one likes being upstaged but you’re not here competing to see who’s the best! You’re supposed to be a team and if the team wins then who cares who does it?”

“You don’t know them! You don’t know how fucked up they are and the stupid ideas they’ll get in their head! Specially Wildrider! I thought I told you not to coddle them! They couldn’t even keep you healthy! Had to go to some slagging hospital to get most of you replaced! You have a nasty habit of rewarding failure doctor! It’s gonna bite you in the aft!”

“And you have a nasty control issue and a fear that if you’re not in charge then you’re worthless. You used to be a good leader Motormaster and you’re going to do nothing but find yourself in a self fulfilling prophecy if you keep up this Con slag! It sucks being nothing when you were respected but stomping on the mechs you need and even the ones you don’t is only going to leave you with a lot of guns behind a lot of backs if you do get anywhere!”

“Let em’ come! I’ll put them all in their place and take out whoever doesn’t fit and when they’re screwing you over like Swindle did today we’ll see who you come crying to!”

“For your sake I hope you don’t have to see. You won’t like it and I honestly it would be a shame to have to put you down.”

Motormaster easily picked Knock Out up by his middle and slammed him against the wall. Not hard enough to do damage but enough to cause a little pain. Getting close he panted as he whispered in his audial. “That pride of yours is gonna be your downfall. You’re lucky it’s cute on you or I would have done it myself.”

Knock Out leaned and placed a servo on Motormaster’s face. “We’ll just have to see who falls first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quazar has a Soundwave type build but a little different.  
> thanks for reading! Kudos, comments, and requests are always welcome!


	6. Menasor: The Useless War Machine: part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of these days I'll actually write them going through a fun adventure because I really wanted to instead of just telling about them but for the life of me I can't think of anything that could get me to the word length I like.

As much as traveling across the galaxy restocking supplies and raking in cash was a blast Megatron was getting testy and while he’d taken Motormaster’s radio silence well considering he’d left the team to die if he started looking for their signatures it was going to be a visit from the DJD and while Knock Out know he could play things off the things he knew about the DJD were that they had fun first and asked questions never. So it was better to just not get on their bad side. So in lieu of actually living their lives Motormaster thought it a good idea to take at least another few cycles to get back into shape. Knock Out didn’t even know the Stunticon leader even thought that far ahead but the others all groaned as if they were used to it. He felt bad for them but he couldn’t deny it was a good idea.

He’d been getting a sort of brush up himself thanks to teaching Breakdown, he’d actually read through over thirty of his datapads to answer all of his nurse in training’s questions which was a first because he hadn’t even booted them up since the day he stole them from the clinic he’d raided. They actually had a lot of good information! As for the physical side of things.... He'd never really trained to fight considering he usually just acted on instinct as was necessary in his line of work but while Motormaster didn’t expect him to join in he did for the others sake. Motormaster wasn’t as physically abusive when he was around.

It certainly wasn’t a mistake on his part but it hadn’t been enjoyable. In part due to his own pain, he wasn’t a soldier so he didn’t even have half the training the others did, most of the time just had paranoia and anxiety keeping him going, the other part was due to the other’s pain. Even though they’d spent a good chunk of time out of the field and Knock Out had done minor repairs here and there he’d never given them real physicals and working out was a good enough one as any to learn that they were all real fucked up and it hurt to hear them even move. Well...he already knew that in some part but he didn’t know how badly till he saw them this close in action.

He had keen audials, built for telling what was wrong in certain machines be they cybertronian or not so it was easy to deduce what was wrong even over their groaning.

Dead End had weak struts, his long periods of depression and dissociation lead to him starving himself more often than not. He’d need a set of heavy reminders with energon that would be more paste than liquid with all the supplements Knock Out would have to put in it. Dragstrip too had a diminished frame, more interested in being light and thin but not knowing how to do it properly. He also had terrible hips and tanks. Bent out of shape in a few ways it couldn’t have been easy doing anything. Transforming, fighting, walking! Either it was a botch frame job or he had been sparked up multiple times and gone through with every one of them. Likely with mechs much larger than he was. Knock Out figured at least one of them was Motormaster’s fault but he hadn’t gotten that far with Dragstrip yet to ask.

“Wildrider was missing gears and wires. He somehow made it work but there were obvious things he couldn’t do, he’d try to bend his arm or leg in a certain way and quickly realize it was out of the question and do something different, often wrong putting strain on something that it shouldn’t be on. He’d need to go on the table.

Breakdown likewise still needed serious surgery. He was the best off out of all of them thanks to actually asking for help but like Wildrider he was missing things that made living hard not to mention his engine was still terrible. Knock Out felt bad because it was obviously a point of pride that he’d been born a racing frame unlike all the others but it still wasn’t good and it was causing more damage than he thought.

Motormaster was just old. He was the second best out of all and as an older military model he was sturdy and built for almost anything but his pride was killing him. He was a field patch and hope for the best kind of mech and it showed. He was only one good punch from having all of his main lines either tear or pop off likely sending his spark into shock and killing him instantly and even if they lasted part of them were likely melted too or sealed together. He didn’t get fuel well and he was likely exhausted and woozy, feeling his age most days despite his ruthless facade. It was a testament to said pride and ruthlessness that he pushed through anyway. They’d spoken about his issues privately more than once but considering he hadn’t found any heavy grounders to hawk his wares to he had been short on supplies for the mechs build but now that he had some the mech’s stubbornness and fear were rearing their ugly heads.

Menasor as it turned out was even worse...or perhaps the cause of the others issues himself. Knock Out knew from rumor that whatever sense the stunticons had was immediately brought down to zero when they combined and well...that showed true for the most part. They were distracted easily, single minded on destruction and overall just not a good team of bots. It was understandable considering they all wanted nothing to do with each other for the most part, that Knock Out didn’t know how to fix. They worked well enough to get a job done but had little trust in each other or respect to be a competent fighter when it came to another gestalt. Thanks to this dissonance his left arm was barely usable, his right was horribly beat up, and his knees were obvious weak points, let alone he was covered in dents and cracks, had pigeon toed almost knock kneeded bullshit that would have gotten him killed in an instant if he wasn’t a terrifying giant. All in all he was just unbalanced, being made up of a five different frame who were formatted to be racers didn’t make for a sturdy gestalt.

It really was the spark or the protoform situation though. He knew the problems came from somewhere and knowing a few smaller sets of combiners he knew everyone’s thoughts went into creating the big guy so it could be as cohesive or separate as they wanted. So it could be that the issues stemmed from one of the team just thinking that was how a bot should look. Or the wounds they received in battle, or the wound’s simply from their separate parts. It was headache inducing. Where to start on fixing the problem then?

Knock Out knew for sure that Autobots treated their gestalt’s wounds in gestalt mode but they had hidden underground bases and large fortified outposts and a team of specialized mechs!. Everything was in the air for the Cons and while they had massive ships they didn’t have ones that massive. Knock Out himself was once likened to a one mech medical bay by another medic who thought it was novel that he could carry his own patients, apply anesthetic and suture up a wound at the same time but that had more to do with flexible servos than skill. He was under no guise he knew how terrible he was even if he boasted the opposite often and loudly. Still if he was going to keep them around as his own weapon they were going to have to get better. Knock Out took care of his things.

He’d already set most of his plan in motion, he’d convinced Dragstrip and Dead End to endure the daily regiment of mineral paste every couple of hours and after a quick bash on the head he’d gotten Wildrider in and out of surgery in under cycle. They’d all still need more work but that relied on a talk with Breakdown and Knock Out wasn’t ready to tackle him just yet. As he expected the three handled it pretty well. Thankfully with only a few well placed lies and firm remarks for the former two and well Wildrider just woke up from surgery acting like a animal who’d just gotten a thorn removed from its paw, eagerly picking Knock Out up and cuddling him a little too roughly in thanks once the drugs wore off.

* * *

 

They were on the ride home when Knock Out took things a little more seriously. He really needed to deal with Motormaster. Every monster needed a strong core after all, and hopefully with a little confidence and less pain he’d be less inclined to abuse the others. It was a long shot and a dangerous plan but he couldn’t say he was worried. He knew Motormaster better now, the mech liked a tease.

He’d put Dragstrip to bed and slipped from the berth to the cockpit. Motormaster was glaring at space just as reluctant to return home as everyone else. His look perked up when he felt Knock Out’s hip brush against his idle servo. He scoffed but slipped it back to cup the side of Knock Out’s aft and pull the mech close. “Well, well, welll~ I told you Dragstrip wasn’t a great frag. Too needy.”

“I love needy. Based my business off of it in fact.”

“You sure did. So why then are you coming to see me? You two want to put on another show for me?”

“I was thinking something private, in my med bay.” Motormaster raised an optic ridge, he wasn’t a stupid mech despite how most saw him and he got on pretty quick that Knock Out was pretty much a closed circuit mech who knew how to use the gifts Solus had forged him with….to a point. “I don’t think you’re old enough to have kinks. I don’t think you’ve done more than ogled a mech’s junk you happened to like.”

“Maybe…...maybe not.”

“Yeah maybe not. Listen I think I’ve had your number for a long time now and I bet you learned a lot once the walls started going down but not before then.”

“Mmhm well if that’s what you think how about we be each others firsts.” Motormaster laughed loudly at the thought. He couldn’t even remember half the mechs he connected to, pit he couldn’t even remember half the ones he sparked up and that was a considerably smaller number. The little doc wasn’t laughing though, not even embarrassed, the glint of his fangs just as telling as the glint of his servos hidden behind his back. He’d heard him hitting up Wildrider in the back, he’d heard doorstop and the runt bitching about their new meal plan too, the little mech was putting something in motion and he was the next stop on the road. In that moment that sweet smile never looked so terrifying. “We discussed this.” Motormaster watched Knock Out’s optic guards rise and fall slowly, shielding against dust that wasn’t there. Motormaster suppressed a shiver.

“W-w-ah-we sure did. You said you didn’t have the parts you needed to fix me up.”

“I have the parts now.”

“What if they don’t fit i-i-I’m a pretty classic model you know.”

“Replica parts are just as good as the one Solus gave us. If they don’t fit I close you up and trade them in for a bigger size. Preferably before we get back on planet, come now Master this is your health.”

“Y-y-yeah~ b-but I’d have to go under again. Seems like a waste of fucking time if you ask me.”

“You could literally die at any moment.” Motormaster remembered that conversation. For some reason the thought of his own demise didn’t get him as nervous and bothered as the small slim figure sneaking into his lap.

“That’s what you’re here for!” He grabbed at Knock Out’s middle and gave it a careful but forceful squeeze and felt Knock Out’s claws start to dig in through the gaps of his chest armor. Motormaster couldn’t help but wonder if Knock Out had pegged his number too.”

“I’m all about preventative medicine.”

“No you’re not.”

 “You’re right but does it matter? I know what I’m doing.” Motormaster felt Knock Out’s talons sink a little deeper, the sharp edges leaving scratches on the sensitive walls of his chest metal. Motormaster moved his servo downward back to the medic’s aft, his grip turning firm enough to leave dents.

“You know your way around a lot of bodies I’ll give ya that.”

“I want to know my way better around yours.” Knock Out ignored the pain Motormaster’s touch brought. He knew the mech wouldn’t do much worse. The Con was a brute, a killer, and he followed through on his promises. All of them. He knew how to treat nice things and Knock Out was the nicest thing he’d had in a long time.

“I’m sure ya do. I’ve got something much better I can show ya for our first time.”

“Oh no. I like hidden treasures. Things...most mech don’t show.” Knock Out tried not to smirk when he was pulled down against the bigger mechs crotch, the brute was so predictable. Knock Out let himself linger in Motormaster’s lap enjoying the slight hum of a pressurised spike just behind thin panels.

“I agree with ya’ there and I’m sure you’re considered one yourself. I bet you keep those panels of yours locked real tight.”

“Some tighter than others.” Motormaster vented in sharply when he heard a faint click and a soft hiss. Their game taking a sudden large leap in stakes. He couldn’t help but slip his servo down between Knock Out’s thighs and run his thumb wistfully along the warm metal but the mech still had his codpiece and outer plating in place. He should have known it wasn’t that easy. They were playing chicken after all. Primus if he hadn’t been fragging his own servo for so long thanks to Dragstrip!

“Listen! I want to go out on the field! Like a good soldier taking out that Autobot slagger! I don’t want to risk it on some rinky medic’s table in the middle of nowhere!”

“Well i'd like to rip your spark out with my denta and frag the wound, what's it like to want!” Motormaster was about to retort and mention how the medic was spending far too much time with Wildrider but was taken aback at the little mech easily ripping his chest panels open in one swift sudden motion.

“FUCKING PRIMUS! YOU LITTLE-” Motormaster was quick to wrap his thick digits around Knock Out’s neck but the cool breeze on his spark had his head lolling back against his hood. The medic’s thin digits teasing along the sore sensitive metal making his vents hitch and his engines whine in a mixture of agony and arousal. “Primus~” He growled in a deep hushed tone, letting his interface paneling snap back so his cord could fully pressurize. The tips of his digits jittered and curled as Knock Out’s touch got closer to his spark but he tried to keep his composure. He’d lost the game but that didn’t mean he had to just give up everything. “Enjoying the view? I hope it was worth it because you won’t be walkin’ for the next few days!” He clutched the smaller mech’s neck just a bit tighter to keep him in place and wrapped the other set around one of Knock Out’s thighs. He couldn’t do much to move him without risking his own discomfort but he was sure he got his point across. The mech wasn’t weaseling his way out of this situation. “You know I was being nice keepin’ off you, figured it best not to break the runt and junkheap’s sparks but I have to say I can’t wait to see the sorry looks on their faces!”

“Mmhmm sure~ I’ll make it up to them eventually. It is cute that you still think this is about my feelings for you.”

“I know you want me. I know you like ‘em big. Now open up so I can give you what you really want~”

“I believe I said I wanted you on my table. WIthout that condition~......no dice I’m afraid.” Motormaster snarled but it turned into a breathy moan. Knock Out was skimming his touch over the Con’s spark, admiring the way sparks shot off and arched across his digitips despite how weak the source was. “It’s almost black it’s so dense. Honestly the fact that you’re still functioning at your level is a miracle.”

“Ahh~” It was clear Motormaster wanted to say something witty in response but the few words he had were lost.as digitips dipped further into his spark, a gentle force of electricity butting against the surface. “Ahhrrre!~ Ah~ Hell.” With his spark leeching energy from Knock Out’s defibrillator Motormaster suddenly felt….amazing. He’d been slogging through life for years now but with the medic’s help it was like he’d finally driven out of the tar pit.

“It really does pay to ask for help once in awhile Motormaster. There’s not even a one percent chance that i’d lose you.”

“W-wh-warhhRA-hy can’t we just enjoy ourselves here! I told you I don’t-I don’t-ah Primus~” Primus it really did feel so much better. Motormaster knew he needed to go under, sure he wanted to die on the battlefield but...not soon! There was just something he just wanted more and he knew he was not going to get it if he just followed the doctor’s orders. “Y-yer just gonna knock me out, f-f-fix me up an’ pr-ha-ha-pretend this never happened.”

“And? You’re getting a very expensive medical procedure for free.”

“I don’t want the procedure”

“You need the surgery!”

“Give me what I want and I’ll let you do the surgery.”

“We can frag after you’ve healed up.”

“How ‘bout we do it before, right now, while I got you in the mood.”

“You could die.”

“Well….then i’d die happy.” The two weren’t quite at the standstill Motormaster wanted to believe they were. With his servo in his spark the little Doctor could easily just drag him off to the medbay but not without a fight and that’s where Motormaster had the upper servo. Knock Out didn’t like fights he couldn’t win and he still didn’t know if he could.

* * *

 

Knock Out was definitely sore after the surgery. Partly because it had taken a few cycles of nonstop work…..not all the changes consented to by Motormaster, but for his best. Partly because….he’d started out the surgery sore.

Dragstrip noticed right away, the moment Knock Out made his way back to their quarters. He didn’t say anything as he helped situate every heat pack Knock Out owned to the medic’s frame and Knock Out was sure he hadn’t planned on saying anything at all but Knock Out was too dented up for it to not be obvious.

They were listening to one of the radio drama’s they liked, chatting and laughing at high society Lady Adaline’s misfortunes in love and life. Enjoying what little peace they had left before gearing themselves back up for a warzone. Knock Out didn’t know about Dragstrip but it was becoming easier and easier with every trip back home. Everything about him flipping like a switch, like the way he would when heading down to a market to deal. He didn’t like that about himself. Dragstrip waited till the show was over either out of consideration or simply because now bored his mind couldn’t help but think before he spoke up. He’d been staring at a particularly nasty dent on Knock Out’s thigh for what felt like forever and it just slipped out. “He’s such an aft isn’t he. He was like that before the Cons too. Liked it long and rough.” Dragstrip sighed as rubbed at a recently healed crack in his side. “It’s so good though.”

Knock Out looked at him through dull sleepy optics. “You’re not mad?” Dragstrip took his time answering, staring blankly at Knock Out’s peds.

“No. I’m not stupid I know why you did it he’s been running around like a slagging new build now that he can feel that black hole of a spark of his.” Dragstrip’s grip tightened, his thumbs pressing harder into Knock Out’s palms. He didn’t want to be angry anymore. He didn’t want to give Motormaster the satisfaction. “He doesn’t deserve me…...and Dead End’s better. He lets me be in charge….. he also likes to switch it up. You’d be surprised how lively he can be when he wants. It’s just-” Another sigh.

“It’s just not the same.” Knock Out had never shared sparks with another mech, or even been in a relationship that lasted longer than a few months but he could guess it hurt to let someone go and start over.

The other mech blushed ashamedly. “Sometimes.” Dragstrip lightly grazed the dent he’d been glaring at. “Did he hurt you that bad?”

“No...I just haven’t hooked up in a while. I let it go too far.”

Dragstrip cocked his head as he smiled knowingly. He’d played that game with Motormaster before and he’d lost just as many times as he’d won. “Was it worth it?”

“Presently? No,but I didn’t do it for me and this is more of a wait and it will prosper type of sacrifice.” Dragstrip let out an ugly snort.

“Yeah. What is it with trying to trick us into bettering ourselves. What are you some kind of medic?” Idly Dragstrip nudged at one of Knock Out’s heat packs, sliding it back into place.

“I made you a promise. Healing...has to start somewhere and Primus knows you idiots won’t take care of yourselves.” Dragstrip laughed softly again.

“Motormaster used to say the same thing to me you know….to all of us….usually while beating another mech to death who was trying to kill one of us. I think that’s why he likes you.” Dragstip let quiet fall between them as they listened to the alien warble that harmonized with simple melodies. “W-will there be any time to request an appointment on your table?”

Knock Out laughed actually a bit surprised. “Really? I thought I was going to have to convince you to get matching doors with me to get you there.”

Dragstrip let out a genuine gasp of interest. “We should totally get matching doors. That would be amazing.”

Knock Out shook his head. He couldn’t believe how easy the Con was.“How do you feel about you and Dead End getting matching everything?” Dragstrip made a little disgusted noise but kept quiet in thought for a moment.

“W-would that help us….help Menasor?”

“Absurdly yes…..you don’t have to be exactly the same though just….the same weight. If you could work with him and come up with new designs for both of you I could make it work. I’m going to try to get Breakdown and Wildrider to do the same. They need to be bigger frames. Menasor’s weight isn’t good on their struts...or anything. I probably won’t be able to get it done before this battle though so just make sure you keep up on your supplements and you’ll be okay.”

“Yeah...Shockwave told Megs making a combiner out of speedsters wasn’t a good idea but...he was that mad at us.’

“How did you idiots end up getting shoved together anyway. I know Breakdown mentioned something about the Bots and Dead End said treason but you lot don’t seem like you have the patience to be Autobots especially as turncoat Decepticons..”

“We don’t...didn’t even before everything. We all started out as Cons. There are some decent mechs there even if it is outweighed by crazies. They gave us a lot even if it’s not the best….it’s better than nothing...better than what we were before. We all got put on as a team to help cargo get through. It was a pretty great job and we really did work well together. Then we got instructed to infiltrate the Autobot Wreckers. Rise in the ranks and sabotage them from the inside out. Except it was nothing like the Cons imagined….there was no structure….it was just teamwork and trust. We each made some friends….it was….it wasn’t better but it was more appealing and…. we just didn’t care. Sure we didn’t give a fuck about Autobot ideals but neither did they really and we didn’t give a fuck about Decepticon one’s either. So…..we just forgot,fit in. When we stopped replying Megs sent the DJD after us and we told em it was just a bad time, they were getting suspicious yada,yada. They didn’t buy it but Megs already had a plan for us so when Tarn offered Master a chance for us to not get our skulls shredded….he took it.”

“Well.” Knock Out slipped further back against his support block.

“Yeah….we’re just….slaggers. Straight to the core.”

Knock Out weakly threw up his arms. “What can you do. Can’t please everyone so might as well at least please yourself.”

“Right?!” Their conversation lulled again as they let the soft music fill the silence. “Are...are you going to have to- do you…..want to make you and Master a thing….because I know I just told you I was fragging Dead End but...I do like fooling around with you too. I give you permission...but I still really want to tell you you should steer clear. I know he’s a great time and sometimes you just need something to remind you that the world’s not shit…..but you’re better than me. You should know better.”

Knock Out laughed leaning over despite his pain to kiss Dragstrip, just catching the side of his mouth. Dragstrip cupped his face and righted him. Pressing more soft kisses against Knock Out’s lips, resting their helms together as he rubbed at Knock Out’s audials. “I’m not some pining new spark. I’m not saying there wasn’t feeling behind my little scheme but it wasn’t what he was likely thinking it was. Motormaster’s the type of mech I pay to remind me why I don’t get one for free. They’re good but….they’re usually not what I want in every other aspect.” Knock Out slipped free and gave Dragslip a impish grin. “We can still have fun as long as you keep it in the group. I’ve already checked you lot for viruses so you can swap each other’s code as much as you want. I figured you were already doing it anyway. Rumors and all about you Combiners. ”

“Oh jeeze thanks.” Dragstrip playfully shoved at Knock Out for the backhanded remark but cringed when his push sent the mech rolling off the berth. It really was too small for more than one mech. “Sorry.” Leaning over he held out his servo for Knock Out to grab on to but it was smacked away gently.

“No this is my new life. I live on the floor now fuck you.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t washed the floor in a week.”

Knock Out turned his face to the floor and looked at it idly. “Still smells clean. Should be fine.”

“But I’ll miss you up here on my own.”

“That’s what you get! I’ll enjoy my exile in spite of you!”

“NO!!! It was a misunderstanding please come home! I’m with child!

“It’s too late I’m already enthralled in my research of reef fish! The child will be reared as a bastard and you a whore for it!” The two broke into a fit of laughter ruining their skit.

“Do you even know what half that mumbo jumbo they say on that show means? Is it just science fiction junk?”

“I’ve no idea. Probably.”

* * *

 

They were only a cycle or two away from Cybertron, following Megatron’s warpath to know where to land and Knock Out had stopped them at a nearby planet to do last minute supply run and let the other mechs stretch their legs.

Dead End had been with him earlier, helping apply a new duochrome he’d made. It shifted from deep glossy black to an unnaturally bright blue. With the silver details it was certainly the fanciest thing he’d taken onto the field but…..he was starting to like it. Giving the mech his paint recipe was probably one of the best decisions he’d made. He did do that from time to time.

The mech had bailed on him for Dragstrip as soon as the mention of errands came up. Knock Out couldn’t blame him. Going into town to have fun and see the sights was a lot more interesting than going to a shady underground market to make deals with strangers. If nothing else happened between him and the Stunticons Knock Out was proud to say he at least fixed something by at least building a better relationship between the two of them. He could only hope it would last beyond Dragstrip’s need for a rebound that put out on a frequent basis.

With Wildrider and Motormaster already off to places unknown to rake in a little extra cash Knock Out was expecting to make the trip alone. He was halfway into the city when he saw a blue and silver blur in his rearview, Breakdown going as fast as he could to catch up with the faster mech. Knock Out slowed so they could drive side by side. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

“Yeah but I thought Dragstrip was escorting ya’. You’re lucky I caught your taillights in time….unless you wanted to be alone?”

“Well you’re lucky I wasn’t going at top speed. Is your engine smoking?”

“I-i-it’ll stop. Eventually. So is it okay if I say with you?”

“Ah well you know what they say, misery loves company and I hate dealing with these fucks for deals without Swindle. You ready to play my muscle?”

“More than ready! I will punch my servo threateningly with my hammer the entire deal if the situation calls for it.” Knock Out’s engine stuttered for a moment as he laughed.

“Good plan. It’s a shame you aren’t also sporting an optic scar to cinch the look. For Decepticons you really are pretty boys. Even Wildrider has that Wildlands bandit king look going for him.”

Breakdown’s field fluctuated as he laughed. “Yeah, but you could paint one on I wouldn’t care. The Con’s kind of have a code for looking nice even with war wounds. Not like anyone follows it but it’s nice to fall back on when you personally just don’t want to be disgusting. Wildrider though? Really?”

“I spent a stint on Junkion after my town was destroyed so you learn a different kind of attractive there. Picked up some subpar medical training and a brief torrid romance with a tribe leaders son, remember? They treated me like royalty, called me and the few others Red eye picked up ‘the pristine ones’ but they said we were all horrifying to look at. Gave them the heebie jeebies.”

“Red eye was the medic who saved you from the acid floods right?

“Yeah, you remembered. He went off to the Cons. I haven’t seen him since.” Knock Out went quiet after that so Breakdown left him be as they drove along the long straight shot of road. Taking turn after turn till Breakdown didn’t know where he was so he followed Knock Out just a bit more closely. His nerves starting to get to him as they headed into the tunnels, bleeding lights spiking fear in him. He tried talking again to calm his anxiety.

“Y-you know, you never told me where you were from, the place before the neutral town that flooded? Or...was there nothing before? Is...is there anything left of your home?”

“I’m from Isos. A small mountain town right between Vos and Nylon. There was a lot of mining and uhh….chemical plants….black market hideouts. It wasn’t a nice place to visit but it was an okay place to live. There’s…. nothing left of it. After the attack I went to Vos, found some other neutral medics that’s how I ended up in Hexolite. Lied through my denta but to be honest I don’t think they would have ditched me even if I told them the truth.”

“Oh.” Breakdown didn’t know how to respond.

“Yeah, when the bombs started coming down the place lit up like a firework. Can’t even go near the area without and industrial grade mask and some serious acid resistant coating.”

“That’s…..you couldn’t have been forged there. What was a mech like you doing in a place like that? Trying to strike it big and get out like everyone else?”

“I wasn’t always as lucky as I am now. I...I barely had wheels back then.”

SHIT! Breakdown tried to play his mistake off. He didn’t know if it worked. “Well... that’s no big deal. That’s a lot of bots! I-if you don’t mind me asking...what were you?”

Knock Out took a long time to respond. Breakdown expected it. Not many bots were proud of what they were forged as. Cold constructed or Well born. “A new frame type. What happens when some medic build and a service mech got it on. They thought I was a generator so they sent me right off to the mines, some days the plants when they needed me. Nothing like the smell of amerath burning your engine….. but there are worse jobs than scouting out new mines for gases and recharging bot’s equipment when fuel was short. At least I was taken care of. I got my name from how many lights I’d blow on accident.”

“W-what type of job were you meant to do?”

“Re-ignite sparks, keep dying one’s stable so other medics wouldn’t have to worry about losing energon. Job like that requires a bit more voltage.”

“No wonder you’re so fast, you must have kept your old engine.”

“My old engine was nothing special, my shock came from my spark but with a crap engine I was only good for short periods of time. My racing engine works a lot better and I can actually use my function for what it was intended for.”

“So…..was that hard? Changing your whole frame?” Breakdown changed lanes so he was behind Knock Out, the slaggers in front of him fussing around too much for his liking. Still her easily hear Knock Out’s faint response.

“No.” Figured.

“Ya know Motormaster thinks you’re young. With the way the planets going….it’d make sense. The one’s left to sit keep coming out worse and worse. Probably why. Spark just let go easier and all.” Breakdown didn’t know where he was going, his part of the conversation just word vomit at this point.

“Two thirty thousand... but don’t tell anyone. Motormaster can assume all he wants but if someone finds out I’m part of the lingering youth some “helpful” slagger will inevitably shove me in a pod and send me off to Nova Vitae if word gets round. Even Red eye tried to get me to go but I told him I wasn’t gonna end up some senate puppet when this all finally breaks and Megatron’s head rolls.” Breakdown had put on his breaks at two thirty thousand, the news forcing him to a stand still as he swerved off onto the shoulder of the road. He couldn’t believe that-he..-he just couldn’t. They had all sort of assumed Knock Out was younger maybe two million maybe even one and a half but Knock Out wasn’t even past his first mill! He-he was just a kid and Primus here they were mooching off the mech! He felt like such a sleeze! “Hey why did you stop? These dealers don’t exactly know the meaning of waiting. What’s wrong?”

Breakdown transformed and when Knock Out did as well he pulled the smaller mech closer for privacy. “A-are you serious? Does Swindle know? D-does anyone else know? Is there anyone you can trust?”

Knock Out let out an amused scoff just bordering irritation.“I wouldn’t tell Swindle my real favorite color let alone anything important about me. I use a dead mech’s TFN to get payments from him because I’m afraid of him hacking me during my recharge! I don’t need him like that, I don’t need anyone like that.”

Breakdown wasn’t having it. Sure he’d met younger mechs in the war, mechs made to die, mechs built to fight. He’d killed them too so in the grand scheme he was being hypocritical to care so much but….they were soldiers! Not little spitfires trying to run around playing games with the highest stakes possible! “You’re a kid. Y-you shouldn’t be runnin’ around the galaxy dealing with villains and crooks! Why aren’t you at some Autobot hospital getting some real training?”

Knock Out’s face fell into a frown and judgmental glare. Anger quickly leaking into his tone. He stiffened under Breakdown’s touch but didn’t brush it off just yet. “Are you going to be a problem? I am not a kid! I’ve been working mines, plants,chop shops,relinquishment clinics, an-and GRAVEYARDS! I’ve dug through mass graves for my bosses! I’ve lost digits in acid vats! I created my own drug! I earned everything I have in less time it takes most little rich slaggers just to get processed into their functions so don’t tell me who I am! I KNOW WHAT I AM AND IT DOESN’T MEAN SHIT! IF YOU OR YOUR STUPID FRIENDS-” Breakdown didn’t let Knock Out finish, pinning a heavy thumb against the mech’s voice box and dragging him further off the road for privacy.

“Hey! Hey quiet! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit a nerve but…..seriously? You don’t need to be doin’ this. I’m not talking about Nova Vitae or whatever slag the senate tried to set up, ain’t anyone here who’s gonna tell you that’s not hot slag bu-but there are other places you can go. One’s where you won’t risk getting your aft killed over some drugs an-and crap weapons!”

“I’M LEARNING!”Knock Out promptly shoved the other mech off but he was smiling again. Plenty of bitterness behind it though. “Since when did making you an Autobot or refugee make you bulletproof? Since when did it absolve you from the effects of war? Huh? There’s no place for me to go. I could have stayed on Junkion I guess but why the hell would I? There’s no real future there. It’s a wasteland! It’s the galaxy’s garbage dump! No one even knew mechs lived there! We only went there because Red eye had connections with them. So tell me where can I go where I can be free, make my own money, make my own safety, and actually do something to help my mecha?!” Breakdown sighed defeatedly. “Exactly.”

“It’s just not right.” Knock Out inched closer again, grabbing at Breakdown’s servo.

“So what?” He moved closer. “Don’t feel bad for me.” Even closer. “Help me.” Breakdown tried to ignore the dark red optics that were intent on looking up into his own and the way those two small words made his spark feel. “ It’s not like you’re all that old. Let’s show this life that it can’t fuck us! It can’t just take everything that we knew away and expect us to lay down and die. That’s not who we are! We’re better than that! Aren’t we?” Knock Out gave Breakdown’s arm a rough shake as he tried to get an answer. Primus Breakdown didn’t know what was worse, the actual exhaustion and anger in Knock Out’s words or the fact that even as such a young mech he was already infinitely times more the mech Breakdown could ever be….but he wanted to. He wanted to help Knock Out, protect him, become a mech that could even come close enough to stand on Knock Out’s level. So he nodded along for Knock Out’s sake. Knock Out wasn’t having it.

“Breakdown. Aren’t we?”

He continued his jittery nod. “Yeah.‘Course.”

“Yeah?” Primus this mech.

“YEAH!” Working up his best smile, grabbed Knock Out by his middle and tossed him victoriously into the air. As was right for the moment. Except he didn’t expect for Knock Out to wrap his arms around his neck when he came down. Hugging Breakdown tight. It stalled him for the second time that morning. It had been a long time since he’d gotten a real hug, something warm and kind. Not since Bulkhead. Except this time instead of him hanging off the old bruiser, cold and terrified begging for someone to save him from the slag he’d gotten into Knock Out was holding them together, waiting for him to return the feeling... but it was hard to miss the faltering of the young mech’s field. Forget for even just a brief moment how it spiked with pain and dipped scarily low with fatigue. Breakdown tightly gripped Knock Out’s back and nestled his face in the crook of the young mech’s neck. “I’ve got your back Knock Out. For as long as you want it."

“Let’s go separate some shysters from their ill gotten goods.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, requests are as always appreciated!


	7. Menasor: Broken Down:part 2

Knock Out was quietly doing last minute inventory of supplies as he was packing up his bags and checking his equipment. Most of it was fine but nearly all of his personal stuff still glowed deadly with radiation. Finding the proper equipment for cheap, for example off a dead Autobot medic, was going to take some time but Dead End ever the creative took it upon himself to toss the junk and crafted together some makeshift stuff for him. It worked perfectly well, kept all his supplies safe and sound but….it all looked so posh. Not that anything was wrong with that, only Primus knew the dumb luxury goods would have just tattered away to nothing in the abandoned shops Dead End stole half the scrap from but….Knock Out sort of felt bad for using it.

He’d never considered himself poor in Isos, sure he wasn’t rich but he always had fuel, a home, and a job to keep it all. He also had the drive to go out and make himself extra money at his health and safety’s expense. When he got himself something nice, he cherished it: savoring new datapads and books by only reading one chapter a week, hiding away energon sweets till they were almost stale, taking five years to go through one pot of his favorite pearlescent detailer. Doing something like this felt like sacrilege to him. It felt so stupid and wasteful and so very much Dead End in all the wrong and right ways. A bit giddy he couldn’t help but clip all the bags on and do a little turn, admiring how the slick detailed gray leather popped off his shiny black paint.

“What do you think Quazar?” The bot swiveled the captain’s chair to look at him.

“Sharp boss. Should I call you that, or do you like master? I realize I never really asked what the terms of my servitude were on this ship.” A pout really did look cute on Knock Out, the glare not so much.

“I told you, you could leave. I need a tech bot but one who I can trust not to run off. You’re the one happily sleeping with Wildrider and mooching off my energon. The least you could do is help me this one battle without all the sass.” Quazar laughed.

“And the next and the next. Can’t promise on the sass though. Sorry if my personality is less than appealing I’ve been through a lot. You seem worth sticking around for Doc so as much as it means nothing, you can trust me.”

“Then you can call me K.O. I like the sound of boss but I’m not going to remotely pretend I’m above you.”

“Considering you’ve managed to tame a team of legendary lunatics I’d say you’re above quite a few mechs. I’d be proud to call you boss.”

“You might have to hold off on my acclaim till the end of this fight. Have you got all their chips synced to a datapad for me?

“That and more. This tech is almost some of the best, that alone would have been enough for me to stay rich patron but I’m betting you didn’t pay for it though did you?”

Knock Out shrugged slyly, adjusting his bags to better fit his frame. “The ship came with some pretty good stuff but I had some other friends who kept it up for the most part. I wouldn’t know anything if it hadn’t been for them. Considering I make all the product you could say I paid for it but it was their share they spent on it not mine.”

“Right.” Quazar nodded along. That wasn’t really the answer he’d expected even if it was still interesting to know. Not many mechs were willing to talk about friends, living or dead even something as small as that…..at least to a tech bot who could use the smallest clues to ruin anyone. Seemed like Knock Out was pretty open for a bot, he certainly wanted to pretend he was at least...or he just didn’t care enough. “It’s a curse, at least our equipment lasts longer than most of yours. I can’t imagine how easy it was keeping stocked before you became a drug lord.” Knock Out sighed as he unclipped all his now perfectly adjusted packs and fell comfortably to the floor.

‘There was a...few neutral stations we used to pick up at but they weren’t always so good at getting to all the battles. Autobot posts helped us out then usually. We serve the suffering citizens after all so they rely on us to bear that burden so they can focus on their soldiers.”

“Makes sense. It must be nice not to have to rely on them though. You know I gotta ask for someone who has so much potential to just….leave….what are you really doing here? You could have someone else sell your slag and just rake in that cash on a pretty pleasure planet far far away just like all the other rich mech who fled this slagpit. I mean really…..you don’t need these dumb fucks...you could buy your own set of dumb fucks! Built just for you! Who just dream of siphoning your plug and letting you use their backs as a footstool. Just because Megatron and Optimus tore shit apart and sent the glitchrats scattering doesn’t mean the smart one didn’t go straight to where they could continue pulling their scrap. It’s a fucking nasty galaxy out there.” Knock Out wasn’t even trying to hide the smile on his face.

“You would know wouldn’t you. Bet you tried and it turned on you.” Quazar balked and stuttered shamelessly at the notion but his blush gave him away. “I get it though, you couldn’t stay here.” Knock Out paused for a moment as he picked carefully at a fleck of paint that had splashed out of place. “I don’t know why I’m staying. Motormaster thinks it’s because I have a hero complex and...he might have something but...I don’t try very hard. At least not to the extent other medics do. I mean I feel bad….but aren’t they just going to a better place?” It was hard not to notice the sacrinine mockery Knock Out put in the words but there was something else too. Just a tinge of hope. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I think this will all work out….no matter who wins. Like this can’t go on forever and they’ve already done what they wanted to do. They killed a shit ton of slaggers. They both have relatively the right morals. Yeah Megatron’s an extremist but….when you get stuck with a lot like being someones expendable toy how can you not be. If he actually won...he’d calm down or someone else would come around and fuck him up. Peace through tyranny….Primus his little lackeys better hope he doesn’t cut himself with that edge of his. Personally, I just can’t believe two besties fight over who got crowned fairest lady at the debutante ball actually started a civil war.”

“Debutante Ball?” Quazar’s laugh echoed loudly in the small room, triggering soft laughter from Knock Out as well.

“Heh- Sorry. I pick up a lot of dumb lingo from the slag I listen to.” Quazar waved him off.

“No, I think I get it. You’re making light of this….you really think its just that….something dumb and petty?”

Another sigh, another flutter of plates as Knock Out shifted and made himself comfortable again. It had been a long time since he’d just talked like this. “Well, it sure as the pit feels that way to us doesn’t it. We barely know the story of how this all happened. One day there’s resistance whispered in the streets, forces coming together, Senate's getting burned to the ground, then the next thing you know they’re throwing bombs at each other and fighting over who’s liberating what city. I don’t know about you but my city wasn’t liberated by anyone. It was fucking totaled. They both wanted to play with it and because they couldn’t fucking compromise they just stomped all over it!” Knock Out’s voice was steadily rising getting raspier and filled with rage after each word. “I DIDN’T EVEN LIKE IT THERE THAT MUCH AND I’M STILL ANGRY! I’M PROBABLY BETTER OFF NOW AND I STILL WANT TO KICK BOTH THEIR DENTA IN! SO I CAN’T IMAGINE HOW OTHER MECHS FEEL ABOUT HOW STUPID THIS ALL IS!” Knock Out who had been rising slightly huffed loudly as he fell back into a pile. “I just think some normal idiots should get a chance to rage at the idiots who decided their lives were worthless enough to risk for their own personal ideas. Is that mean?”

Quazar leaned back and stretched the taut cables in his legs, “Nope. I think they deserve it.”

“So what about you, Wildrider said you wanted to go back to Cybertron?” Quazar leaned lazily against the armrest of his chair trying to get comfortable himself. It was funny how opening up to someone else made the circuits so itchy. “Before the deal that doomed me went bad one of my old friends called me. Said they wanted an out. At the time I had a ship of my own, plenty of credits from doing dirty work of my own so I said sure as long as it was going to be short and sweet. He’s…..not the best friend...I was sort of more worried the war had made him less of a friend kind of deal. You get me.”

“I get you. Swindle is sort of like that for me. I knew him from Isos, he came around a lot. We never really talked but we shared a few drinks. Now we’re….selling drugs to the galaxy.”

Quazar’s digital optics narrowed slyly. “Isos ey? No wonder.” The two stalled to a quick silence as the floor creaked right outside the door. One of the Con’s surely heard the yelling but the ship's walls were thick enough for it to sound like nonsense no matter what.

Slowly the door inched open and Wildrider’s face peeked through the crack. “W-what are you two talking about in here?”

“Anarchy.”

“Cannibalism.”

“Threesomes~” Quazar waggled his optic ridges slyly. Wildrider laughed, his whole frame moving with it sheepishly as he slipped inside to join Quazar in the captain’s chair.

“Then why’d you stop?” Despite asking Wildrider didn’t seem to be too invested in the answer. Certainly not with Quazar nuzzling at the side of his face trying to make him forget that he even cared. Wildrider noticed and processed a lot more than he let on, and it got to him a lot more than he let on too so it was best to just ease his worries before they could even come.

Knock Out stretched casually, his joints and gears popping back into place. “Nothing left to talk about.”

Quazar was quick to back him up. “We got bored with just words.” Quazar had yet to divulge what he’d been up to since the war interrupted his life but Knock Out knew he wasn’t as clean cut as he acted from what little he had said and from moments like this. Either way, Wildrider was happy to buy whatever the techmech sold. Knock Out couldn’t help but laugh under his venting as Wildrider smeared oral lubricant all over Quazar’s glass with sloppy kisses. Already more than distracted. Better Quazar than himself as far as Knock Out was concerned but he had to admit, they were kind of cute together. “Is there something you needed? We’re about to land and who knows what will be happening then so you should be getting as much recharge as you can get.” Wildrider’s face dusted purple.

“Don’t worry about my shit. You two nerds are the ones who should be resting up. I…just wanted to make sure that no one even thinks about fucking with you two so...yeah I got you guys something with a bit of my cash. Don’t tell the others, I didn’t get them shit!” Quasar quirked his head.

“When? There wasn’t a time you left when you didn’t drag me along with you.” Wildrider chuckled madly.

“I’ve got some friends who know what they’re doing. They gave me a place where I could pick up some quality weapons that weren’t... guns since you losers seem to not like them. Plus a few other things.” Knock Out and Quazar shared nervous looks but the two continued to play along.

“Ohh well how generous of you WIldrider...and thoughtful. Taking care of us like that.” Wildrider’s pale blue optics flashed and flickered with excitement as he turned to Knock Out.

“Yeah! I saw what Sadsack did with those bags for you! Tch, like that’s gonna keep you safe! I’ll go get your new stuff and you can try them out on me if you need to~” Another mad chuckle and Wildrider was rushing off. What in the Pit did that mean?

Knock Out shot Quazar a questioning look. “You have any idea what he’s talking about? These friends?”

“Vaguely. I think I remember other mechs when he rescued me….but that’s all way too blurry.” Knock Out nodded understandingly, the two waited apprehensively for Wildrider to return. It didn’t take him long to come bounding in, arms full of stuff.

“Hell yeah! Let me show you how it all works! If...if I can remember.” Wildrider’s mad gleaming smile almost just almost covered up his moment of painful realization. “Here! You first Doc!,” Knock Out slid back a bit as Wildrider dumped a small pile of metal and weapons at peds. “First I got you a better chest plate! The one you got is good but I remember you said you didn’t like how it weighed you down! This is special. Lightweight and tough enough to take any blast! I already tested it for you. Oh and here! It’s a cowl. Should keep you safe from sneak attacks! You really should look into formatting something that protects your neck better because that’s the easiest way to kill a stupid medic. Just one slice right from behind! You’re not stupid though Doc I know you like looking your best but someone's gotta tell you the truth. Here are some guards for your tires, they’re clear so you can still get the look you want but now you don’t have to worry about stray fire crippling you!” Primus, Knock Out didn’t know whether to feel freaked out or appreciative. He could understand this behavior from Breakdown or Dead End but….Wildrider? He supposed it made sense considering aside from Motormaster Wildrider was the best and...well most properly armored but the care that had been put in was frightening. The pieces the Con had picked up certainly weren’t perfect for Knock Out’s frame but they were workable. The most unsettling part of Wildrider’s gifts were the reasoning behind each of them actually scared Knock Out. He had been flying a little fast and loose with his armor for the sake of speed and fashion but the more Wildrider went on about the easiest way to wantonly murder a mech the more Knock Out came to realize it was about time he put some effort into bettering himself. “Last thing! A weapon!” Wildrider was practically shaking with excitement now. “You really handled that medical prod like a pro so so I sent it over to a special weapon maker. So this one is made to last! Should work for one of our lifetimes and you never have to charge it! All you need to do is change the energon in the prod when it gets short!” Knock Out took the offered spear, as his servos closed around the sturdier base Knock Out felt it hum beneath his digits. Maybe….even something more. It certainly didn’t help Knock Out feel any safer. “Just put your thumb on the blue groove and give it a little input. It took all the power in one of the originals to put down Motormaster, this bitch packs ten times the punch if you want it!” With Wildrider bouncing on his knees now Knock Out just smiled as madly as he could in return.

“Oh Wildrider you shouldn’t have….thank you. I’ll think of you when I use it.” As if he was ever going to use it. Knock Out swore something inside it was screaming for help! Maybe though…..it was really well crafted and…..it felt really good in his claws. It would also be way more reliable than his sleep darts. Primus that reminded him! He still had so much more slag to do. Knock Out was pulled back to reality by Quazar’s look of panic trying to get his help.

“So now you can actually do all those crazy things you want to do without the risk of getting too close! If you’re strong enough. It might take some time before you can really overpower a bot but I can’t wait! I know you’ll wreak some real havoc on those sorry Autobot slaggers!” Wildrider really was on cloud nine armoring the two mechs up. While his glee was awfully manic it was genuine. “You wanna try it out on me? I don’t mind.”

“Ehh….” Quazar grabbed WIldrider lightly by his face and gave him a wink. “Maybe later. Let me try it on some tech first and get a handle on it.” Quazar bumped Wildrider’s forehead lightly, his semblance of a kiss. “So how about you head off to recharge now and me and the Doc can see what use we can put these things to.”

“You promise I’m not gonna miss any carnage?”

“Promise. Right, Knock Out?” Knock Out nodded along.

“Just gonna be me scrambling to reformat my design to make these pieces fit.”

“See. You won’t be missing out on anything...and if we change our minds, we’ll wake you up.” It only took a little more coaxing to get Wildrider to leave.

Knock Out left if up to Quazar. The mech would have gone without a fight if Knock Out had demanded it but he was already in his own head designing. When he finally heard the door to Wildrider’s room shut, he looked up to the tech mech. “So What was he going on about?”

Quazar shook his head. “I don’t know. He just threw a bunch of armor at me then….this thing.” Quazar carefully detached the strange device from one of the ports in his head, flashing the sister component on his wrist. “Said it’s a wireless device for hacking.”

Knock Out quirked his head. “Wireless? Is that like….through emp or something? Can you do that?”

Quazar nodded. “Yeah, a lot of the new tech is designed that way. Thanks to the war it’s regressing for privacy but….that doesn’t stop a good hacker. Every computer, datapad, door, has something in it that links up to us unless we want to go back to carrying around keycards! Even that though…. I’ve hacked into ancient tech. This thing is supposed to amp up my influence and extend my range by like….forever if it works and not only that…”

“What?”

“Wildrider got it for me so I could hijack mechs.” Quazar laughed skeptically. “I brought it up as a threat but….it’s just a theory. I’d have to manually link up with a bot to get them if I really wanted. A emp connection…...theoretically sure but….it can’t be possible….. right?”

* * *

 

“Where the fuck did your neck go?”

Knock Out bristled a bit at Dead End’s remark,“Under half a foot of thermal Hexolate rubber. Blame Wildrider. He reminded me how many maniacs I’m dealing with now. I know it’s too big but it’ll do for this battle.”

Dead End laughed as he finished setting the cots he was in charge of. Things were still quiet despite the palatable tension in the air. Most of the mechs who could have had fled but the neutrals who couldn’t, or were determined to keep their city free from either side were waiting in the shadows. The few other neutral medics who were sharing the space Knock Out had set up in were giving them pretty nasty looks thanks to their brands but aside from Breakdown and Dragstrip who were being chatterboxes despite it, they weren’t saying anything.

“We all make sacrifices. That chestplate is new too, I like the pop of blue and gold. Perfect color match. Wildrider get that for you too?”

“Get is a loose term. He sort of just threw stuff at me and listed all the ways I could die and why I might want it. I took some of them into consideration.” Dead End nodded.

“Yeah, Rider used to be good at that. He used to be a bot who could get stuff, you know. Now….it’s anybody’s guess most of the time.” Knock Out hummed softly, turning back from another medic he was handing energon off to.

“So...what happened? I know it was Megatron but that’s not really a skill you just beat out of someone. And it’s obviously not gone he just doesn’t do it as often.” Dead End fiddled with one of the bottles he’d come over to help put away in the small fridge.

“They tried to break us….mentally, physically, etcetera, but they did it wrong. They wanted us to believe we were useless without each other...instead they just made us seem useless, they used what was left of Motormaster’s…morality...I guess...to just turn him into a dick. To be honest...I don’t think I’ve changed all that much so I can’t really say. I guess I had faith in the Decepticons once before it happened, that they’d be who they said they were….and maybe they’re alright and we just crossed the line but…… my problems were already there before Megs tried to condition me now I just see through slag with critical optics and what I see is his ship’s going down fast….and were fucking anchored to it against our will. I just don’t see the point of being hopeful anymore. Guess it’s why I like you Knock Out. You see what I see….but are willing to put on a smile and keep going anyway.”

“Gotta make sure your corpse still looks good.”

“What else am I building up to if not a hot corpse?” The two’s laughter was promptly interrupted by one of the other medic’s runners rushing in.

“Line’s been broken! Looks like the Autobots can’t keep their pride behind their panels.” With a collective groan, more runners headed off leaving their medics to finish last-minute tasks. With their chat ruined Breakdown and Dragstrip made their way back to Knock Out.

“Do you want us to help with that?” Poor Breakdown was already shaking. Knock Out knew the mech had more resolve he just had no poker face. Knock Out scoffed a little bit embarrassed, a little amused by the idea of feared Deception soldiers running around with shoddy cots.

“I don’t need runners. Bot’s get onto my table no matter what and if I get word of some big name mech’s taken a shot I go out and get them myself. If you want to do something till the Cons break lines guard the outside.” Dragstrip huffed disapprovingly.

“Any chance to murder a Bot should be taken. The big guy should be out there now! The last thing OP and his band of crusaders would be suspecting is a combiner before Megatron even set a ped into the city!” Dead End nudged his teammate aside and grabbed at one of the portable stretchers.

“Feel free to take it up with the boss Dragstrip, but I’m not willingly wasting energy killing singles unless I’m personally stomping on Optimus Prime’s skull. Till then I’m going to see if there’s still a chance I can save this sullied spark of mine. You with me Breakdown?” Breakdown looked from Dragstrip to Knock Out who both looked equally as surprised. He nodded curtly. Dead End returned it. “Great. Anything without an Autobot logo right Doc?” Dead End didn’t give him a chance to respond as he transformed and sped off, Breakdown’s engine jumping and growling as he sped up quickly to keep up.

Dragstrip clicked his glossia bitterly. “Idiot. Well, I~ want to go out there and kill something. Don’t feel too broken up by the abandonment doc~” Dragstrip ran his servo down Knock Out’s wheel giving it a good spin as he turned back to the ship. Likely off to tell Motormaster and Wildrider the good news.

Knock Out watched them go, Motormaster actually stopping at his side for a moment. He easily held Knock Out’s face in one of his servo’s, pinky digits stroking along Knock Out’s audials as easily as one would a pet. “You’ve got my frequency on open? You should keep it open.”

“What and bother you? You should be offering that sort of luxury to your team Motormaster.” The mech smiled as he shook his head.

“I can always hear those dumb fucks. Drives a mech insane sometimes. They’re covered. I get to ignore them now that you’re here. Right, Doctor.” Knock Out hated how smug and cocky Motormaster sounded but also so…..real. Yeah, real. Like Motormaster believed in him; was actually relieved to have that taken off his shoulders. Knock Out bumped him with his hip.

“Of course. At least they’re happy to see me.” The bigger mech growled softly at the remark, but it was playful. Motormaster had become a lot more playful since his surgery. Like some vicious fauna fostered to new health.

“Just stay alive. There aren’t many mechs who’ve seen under my hood….and I’d like that number to stay as small as I can get it.”

“Just me and the boys? Are we a cult now? Should we let Quazar in too? I bet I can make up some bullshit. People faint when Optimus opens his fucking chest plates so why not you, right?” Motormaster hid his hint of blush.

“I’m not gonna run to everything so make it important.” With that, the mech was gone, hiking his gun over his shoulder and strolling out. Knock Out honestly wished he could have said good riddance but with the dull shrieks of laser fire in the distance a quick shiver ran up his back strut as he turned back to his tables.

* * *

 

The fighting at least for that battle was uneventful for Knock Out. Patients came, survivors went. Breakdown and Dead End were surprisingly good runners considering one being an actual ex-soldier who knew how to safely cross dangerous land and the other a mech who simply didn’t give a fuck. Knock Out found he usually had to patch up at least a dozen holes and rip out more than a few solid bullets from Dead End by the calm hours, his tall lanky frame an all too easy target.

Even more surprising was how….fair they were...or perhaps careful. Dead End was a quiet mech so he knew more than anyone could guess just by being so while he brought in mostly neutrals, at least any mech without a brand, the few Decepticons he did bring in weren’t really the mechs he expected. They weren’t hulking tanks builds or towering jets who could have easily brushed off their leaking shoulders in the time it took their auto repairs to seal up the wound. They were always bad wounds, really bad wounds and they were on mechs that Knock Out knew most Decepticon medics wouldn’t waste their time on. Likely Dead End did too.

Thanks to it, his roster of patients had quickly filled. After ever battle Knock Out felt less and less like a neutral medic helping the mechs of whatever city both sides were trying to ruin and more like he was making house calls. Dozens of names joined his watch list from all sides and a good chunk of them not small mechs either, carriers, deployers, arsenals, hulking terrors with personalities and sparks that just didn’t match. Mechs Knock Out didn’t even know the neutrals had acquired, that the Autobots had built, or that the Decepticons could foster. Cycle after Cycle he found himself out longer in the field, only running back to get more supplies or to change tables when some other Doctor needed him.

The other neutral medics were wary at first of Knock Out’s change except with a personal clientele came patronage and with patronage came more supplies, better equipment, and more. Knock Out didn’t want to say he corrupted his fellow medic but unlike the starving broken citizens, and the Autobots who fought for honor and a paltry sum of chits the Decepticons gave stipends that added up, that could be passed around to anyone they pleased. Having a reliable medic to turn to that wasn’t going to just junk them because they were too far gone or not worth the supplies was something most Decepticons would pay for. It wasn’t long before Knock Out noticed more and more Decepticons showing up the other medic’s tables. Even more guarding perimeters. Even a few lingering inside during quiet hours. On cots, and laps. The Cons may have been part of the problem….but they were a faction full of big tough slaggers just aching for sympathy it seemed. Any medics dream really. Who were the real deceivers now?

* * *

 

For all the decent battles…battles that ended with more living than dead...battles that ended with more dead than suffering….there were bad ones. Ones that started off crazy and just skyrocketed to insane.

They’d been on the front for almost three months. Knock Out was already planning his escape to resupply but Megatron was keeping Motormaster on a tight leash considering he refused to return to Decepticon base. As Knock Out predicted he didn’t care but he didn’t forget either. So they had to deal with Dropoffs from Lockdown or Swindle’s other suppliers.

It was quiet hours. Every now and then someone would drag in a dying mech but most of the cots were filled and there was little space on the numerous tarps that had been laid out by the fire. Not that that stopped most. Neutral medics were harder than Autobot soft sparks but they knew what their job was and kept to it. Knock Out had taken the silence as his chance to go refine energon and finish his batches of RD, its manufacturing didn’t stop because he had other things to worry about. With it done he’d moved on to another grind, scavenging the dead for all they were worth. Usually, Breakdown would be by his side, observing and learning but Megatron had wanted him and Wildrider, so they had to go. Quazar was keeping tabs on them and Dead End had taken Breakdown’s place. With Dragstrip resting in his lap he was in no mood to help but he was good company, reading from an old foil book as Knock Out monotonously removed tubes, t-cogs, and more. Funny thing wars and recycling, Knock Out learned to remember certain specific parts, cursed organs came back to his servos three or four times often. He remembered the forge lines, remembered the weight of them, the energy they still put off.

Dead End startled him. “You’re falling asleep boss, you want me to switch to saucier book?” Knock Out had felt his optics dimming but he hadn’t realized how badly. He wasn’t even that tired even though he’d been awake for cycles.

“I wish I had a hit of Greenlight. I feel foggy.” Dead End quirked his head. That was new. Carefully he moved Dragstrip off his stiff legs and set him under the heat lamp.

“Thought you weren’t into drugs?”

“Anymore...doesn’t mean I never was. I still remember. It...wasn’t quite recreational back then though so I quickly lost the taste for it once it wasn’t being snuck into my energon.”

“I can get you that if you really want it….but have you just checked your levels, gotten some…..really bad air?” Knock Out knew he was low, his warnings were screaming at him hours ago. He’d muted them. The idea of fueling made him queasy, the smell of it indistinguishable from the warm runoff staining his servos and equipment.

“Is there any that’s cold? Really cold.” Dead End nodded as he made his way over to another medic’s fridge, the bulky carrier truck on the table barely shifted an optic at it just pulled Whippet a little bit closer and continued to clean his gun.

“Cold as your little spark, boss.” Dead End tossed him the cube but slipped his arm around Knock Out’s waist as he pulled him along to the outside. They sat in what was left of the garden, the perfectly trimmed silver, and pastel flora quite the contrast to the pitch sky.

They shared a quiet moment as Knock Out fueled up. Most of their moments were quiet. Dead End liked listening to him but rarely returned rapport with such enthusiasm. Knock Out didn’t mind. He felt the most comfortable around him despite knowing the least about him. Tall, handsome, and built for a racing frame, even though he hadn’t been born one, it was obvious Knock Out had feelings for the mech. Not quite romantic ones though. Sure, he never turned down the threeway makeouts Dragstrip was always starting but Dead End was…..he was a mech Knock Out had wished he’d known before the war. Knock Out had never done the whole guardian thing, he didn’t really see the point. He'd survived on his own as soon as his frame settled and he was released into the world with his ambiguous classification and ten thousand shanix. He didn’t know why he just couldn’t shake the idea , wishing he could have had that sort of relationship with Dead End since for all Knock Out knew he was a jerk before the war, but it was there. Dead End didn’t help make it fade either.

Reaching over he teased at one of the seams under Knock Out’s chin till it triggered his face mask, the older mech’s pale coral optics staring down with concerned disapproval. “Don’t daze out without protection. The last thing you need is gunked up fans.” Taking Knock Out’s cube he quickly knocked back what was left before replacing his own mask and tossing the empty glass far out over the wall. It landed somewhere on the alley with a satisfied crash.

Silence again as Dead End settled back into the shitty bench. Knock Out fussed with a bad weld on the other mech's shoulder. He’d gotten Vie to do it, Knock Out could tell by the uneven scorch on the metal.

“You guys have been doing great lately. Superion’s looking worse and worse every time the Autobots drag him out.”

“All thanks to you.” Knock Out’s digits stalled as a nervous laugh escaped him.

“What?” Dead End hunched over a bit so Knock Out could get at the weld easier and so he could look evenly at him.

“You keep us focused now, for the first time when we’re him….we don’t just want to murder whatever's in our way. Fighting…..it almost bores the big guy. It’s Breakdown’s fault. All he wants to do is come back here and spend time with you, be a creep with you tearing out good dead mech's parts and whatever else you’re filling his head with.” Knock Out felt his face flush under his mask. “It’s not just him though, Motormaster’s gotten more worried since the attack on the last place, I’m trying to keep an optic out to make sure you’re not in our zone of destruction, Dragstrip and Wildrider both just wish you were there with us. So….Menasor just...does what he needs to do. We still lose it sometimes…..Motormaster….we’ve all got egos and self-esteem issues.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Knock Out didn’t know what he was worrying about, but his spark was racing in his chest.

“Na, we still hate their Autobot guts so we give it to them like they deserve. You alright, you’re shaking?” Knock Out could barely feel Dead End’s touch over the pain already burning through his circuits. “You forgot to take your pills didn’t you?”

“I-” He had taken them, sometimes the pain still came regardless but he didn’t want the Stunticons to know. Another dose would certainly help though so he didn’t say anything as Dead End picked him up and settled him against his shoulder, his mind already made up.

“Tough little loner can’t even remember to take the meds he needs to keep living? We’re ruining you.”

* * *

 

Knock Out got through a dozen or so bodies before Dead End forced him to power down with Dragstrip. It was shaky and bad because his frame was still sore but it didn’t last long. A blaring in the back of his processor woke him up, his warnings going off. Shooting up he looked around to see the still calm scene he’d left only an hour ago. Dead End gave him another look.

“Breakdown’s emergency chip is pinging!” Stumbling to his peds his plates jumped as he ran to collect his packs and spear, trying to transform but the signals getting lost in his panic. Dead End caught him by his arm.

“Tell me where they are, I’ll get him.” Knock Out pulled away but dragged him along.

“No time for that! The fucking emergency chip doesn’t go off for nothing! Either come with me or stay with Dragstrip and set up.” Dead End pulled him to a halt again.

“How’s Wildrider?” Knock Out accessed the file as quickly as his clumsy systems would let him.

“Not good but not nearly as bad.” Dead End’s optics narrowed as he silently debated.

“Go. I’ll find Motormaster and send him after you. I don’t know who could have caught them.”

* * *

 

That was just the start. It seemed the Autobots had noticed Menasor’s rise in competency and they weren’t too keen.They needed this city so they were going to do anything to get it.

* * *

 

Breakdown felt a whole half of his top denta plate fall out as Bulkhead’s punch landed. He really was no match for the wrecker but the drill team was counting on him, Astrotrain and Octane had already fled with whatever fuel they could, and Wildrider was tearing into Wheeljack somewhere. Help would be coming but not nearly in time. It didn’t help that Breakdown got the feeling Bulkhead wasn’t playing around this time. This wasn’t a squabble over a mine, the bots would have sent more mechs, this was a hit. Bulkhead was trying to kill him.

His peds tripped in the dark mess of the cave and he landed painfully in a pool of his own energon. He was so low, and still leaking fast. Even if he got out of the cave there was no way he’d make it back to Knock Out. Not like any of that mattered because Bulkhead wasn’t letting him out of the cave. Breakdown resorted to pleading as the Autobot loomed over him. His face a mess from the energon and tears and the barely held back snarl.

“Bulkhead, please! Please! I just want to live! It’s not my fault what they did!” It didn’t matter how quickly he crawled or how far he got, Bulkhead was always there, always looming.

“Then maybe this is better for you. They turned ya into a monster, now I’m putting you out of your misery. No need to thank me for taking care of your slag ag-GH!!” Bulkhead suddenly stumbled and grabbed at his leg, there was a hissing coming from his tires. As he pulled his servo away he looked at the three throwing needles in his palm. They were hollow, the tips still glowing a brilliant orange, red, and purple. He clumsily turned to look behind him and caught a pair of bright red optics. A shudder ran through him. Turning on his audial he warned Jackie. “Watch yourself Jackie, backups here.” Over the line, he could hear Wildrider hissing and growling, Wheeljack grunting and huffing. He responded with a laugh so Bulkhead wasn’t worried.

Reaching down he grabbed Breakdown by the throat, he was wounded enough that unless there was some miracle he wouldn’t be able to form Menasor by the Bots planned attack. It was close enough to dead and who knew, they could get lucky in the next few hours anyway. “Come nice and easy and you can have him.” As he turned around the optics were gone, Bulkhead could feel hot air against his middle.

“Not a chance. You don’t mess with my things and get away with it.” A bright jolt of blue blinded Bulkhead as he felt two prongs pierce his intake, boiling the energon that flooded from his melting lines. The bigger mech snarled as he tossed Breakdown to a corner and tried to grab at his assailant to stop the pain searing through his frame….but there wasn’t much there.

Breakdown watched in horror as his savior danced with Bulkhead easily evading and slipping into the darkness causing the bigger mech to lurch and slip as he tried to grapple and search for the much smaller mech. He caught sight of Knock Out’s face in the pitch black as he took a quick moment to smack at his strange spear. It sparked with a more and more dangerous light with each hit against his palm till Knock Out seemed satisfied but Bulkhead caught him before he could attack. He tried to scream out a warning but his intake was crushed too badly. Knock Out’s high pitched, almost manic screams spurred Breakdown to his peds, stumbling ,even as his vision failed him, to the medic’s side. He kicked Bulkhead as hard as he could, yanking wherever he could and swearing up a storm to get Bulkhead’s attention back on him. It worked, but only long enough for Bulkhead to send him flying back into a wall.

Over the advancing black Breakdown heard Bulkhead shriek for Wheeljack, the snarl of Wildrider’s engine, the crack of Wheeljack’s whip, and the sound of his own sobbing. He really was pretty fucking useless. He couldn’t protect anyone, couldn’t even save himself!

When cold servos cupped his faceplate and a comforting weight fell between his knees Breakdown couldn’t help but lurch forward and pull Knock Out tight. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-ehe-eh it’s all my fault. I should have- I-egch-I-I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO PROTECT YOU! BUT I CAN’T- I- because I’m worthless.” His vocalizer ached as he wailed into Knock Out’s metal. He felt Knock Out’s field prickle and swell around him warmly. Knock Out’s servos reaching back to cup his helm and hold him closer.

Breakdown could feel Knock Out's spark racing, hear his fans and every desperate invent, feel the tickle of radiation building on his metal again. “T-that’s ok. That’s fine.” Knock Out was almost stumbling over his words now with how quickly he was trying to get them out. “You’re not worthless, you’re not but it doesn’t matter because even if you feel that way, even if you really were….I’d still be here. I’d be here alright so listen….”Knock Out’s servos returned to Breakdown’s cheeks, Breakdown weakly grabbed at one, every inch of his frame shaking from the strain. “Listen, the only way you’d really be worthless to me is dead, so I need you to go into stasis, I need that, can you do that for me?” Breakdown felt the flux of his spark quicken to painful as panic set in. Stasis might as well have been death for all he knew. He whimpered and vented in ugly gasps, tears and drool streaming down his chin. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to die!

“I can’t-ahgh-I” Calming digits stroked down the sharp edges of his cheeks.

“Breakdown trust me...okay. Trust me. I’m not perfect, I’m not even good, but I know I can fix you. You’ll be good to go in a few hours, alright? I promise. Trust me.” Knock Out felt the grip on his servo tighten till it was almost painful. “Please?”

Breakdown felt Knock Out’s face rest flush against his, he could feel the light warmth of his ex-vents and the light movement of his lips at his final plea, then something Breakdown couldn’t even call a kiss because Knock Out’s touch felt like nothing as the pain drowned it out….but that didn’t matter. “O-okay. Okay.”

Knock Out held and caressed Breakdown till the light fully died in his optics and the flow of energon from his wounds halted to a drip. He would have stayed frozen there by his own nerves and doubts for hours if it wasn’t for Wildrider’s servo on his shoulder. A good chunk of the Cons faceplate was torn away. Knock Out reached out to touch the wounds but Wildrider grabbed his servo.

“Later doc we gotta go! I can hear backup.”

As they raced along the deserted roads Knock Out was left with only his anger and his thoughts. Where the fuck was Motormaster!?

A light rain had broke, the thunder and lighting mirroring Knock Out’s and the other Stunticon’s feelings. They were all on edge, even Dragstrip as he paced around cutting up foil bandages; comming Motormaster again and again relentlessly. Just as Knock Out sat down to rest and Dead End was slapping Breakdown awake to get the story on what the Pit had happened, the truck came stumbling in.

One of his arms had been blasted off as well as much of his side. The rest of his body was pockmarked with wounds, a rather severe one on his chest that was leaching out spark light. Even as he shambled and energon dripped from his lips he sported a smile, a decapitated head held in  his remaining servo a prize from a hard won victory.

“MASTER!” Dragstrip screamed as he raced forward to offer the leader his shoulder. Motormaster actually took it without complaint and let Dragstrip all but carry him the rest of the way.

A bit stunned, Knock Out quickly checked Motormaster’s file and found his alert chip had been put on mute. He couldn’t help but snarl, his spark really didn’t need this. “You stupid glitch of Solus! You threatened Quazar to turn off your chip! THIS IS WHAT THEY’RE FOR!”

Motormaster gave him something of an almost apologetic look, but there was far too much smugness and pride in it. “Yeah and it’s gonna stay off. I don’t need your puny aft chasing after me, especially into a situation where some slagger's getting the one up on me. Any fucker strong as that would kill you in one hit. So forgive me for caring about ya’ alright.” Motormaster let out an irritated snarl as he fell heavily onto Knock Out’s stretcher. Knock Out could just hear the faint hint of Megatron screaming orders in Motormaster’s comm. “Then this bastard! I TOLD THIS FUCKER TEN TIMES IT’S NOT HAPPENING! It’s...ahrgh PRIMUS!” The leader buried his face in the soft padding of the stretcher waiting for Knock Out to get over his pissy mood.

As he heard the doctor near and turned back over he caught sight of all Knock Out’s scrapes and dents. Large dents, servo shaped dents. “What the fuck happened to you! I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME IF ANYTHING HAPPENED YOU LITTLE BRAT! YOU’RE A FUCKING MEDIC NOT A PRIMIS FORSAKEN PIT FIGHTER!” Knock Out would have told him off for if not for the way the leader's voice almost cracked, his optics and face strained with actual panic and concern. So he told him the truth.

“I did. Dead End and Dragstrip tried to warn you. You didn’t answer.” Motormaster stared in shock, guilt seeping into his field and warping his face. Almost off the table with rage he fell back against the stretcher exhausted.

“Ah fuck. I though'- Primus I thought they were just calling to complain about Megatron I-” His words caught in his vocalizer as he reached up to cup Knock Out’s cheek, lightly thumbing a large dent just under his optic. “Ah fuck.” Motormaster let his servo drop to cover his own face from the bright medical lights above him and the shame. Knock Out thought he was just taking a moment….but he stayed quiet. Knock Out placed a few digits to his intake and swore.

“He dropped into stasis, fuck! Whippet! Bind! Can you help me!”

Dead End, Dragstrip, and Wildrider fell into the background as the medics scrambled to rearrange patients. Dead End went back to waking Breakdown while Wildrider picked lightly at his own freshly mended wounds and Dragstrip went back to pacing. It didn’t didn’t take Megatron long to switch his attention to the others. The three ignored the calls but they could only keep it up for so long.

Dragstrip finally stopped, dropping to a crouch he grabbed at Dead End’s servo. Leaning close he hissed in the mechs audial. “He’s not going to fucking stop, and if he sends someone here it’s the fucking end of this nice life. Not just for us but for all the other lucky idiots we helped these desperate neutrals employ. You need to talk to him now. I’ll wake up Junkheap.”

Dead End shook his head. “This isn’t the time. He won’t go out, I don’t think he’d even let us go out! Breakdown’s practically d.o.a. and he’s gone through five doses of suppressors. Menasor might fucking kill us. Can’t you get through to Megatron?”

“He’s not gonna take no for an answer! You saw that new asshole Devastator’s taking down, it’s only a matter of time before Superion shows up. They’re trying to wear him down, they tried to fucking off us! If we weren’t holed up in fucking traitor town with our neutral saviors we’d have gotten wrecker visits too!” Dead End sighed. When Dragstrip was right he was right.

“Fine. Get him up.” Dead End winced at the sharp sound of metal against metal as Dragstrip slapped Breakdown with enough force to leave a mark. He felt like he was delivering a death warrant as he calmly made his way over and pulled Knock Out aside. “Knock Out we need to leave.” Knock Out nodded blindly, his processor stuck in medic mode. “You need to come with us.” That snapped him out. Dead End felt the shiver that ran down his frame.

“Why? What’s wrong.”

“We need you. Menasor needs you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. kudos, comments, and requests if you like.


End file.
